Gleaming the Cube
by Deleroux
Summary: Picking up after the S3 finale. Slow-burn progression of D/E relationship, as well as overarching plot involving multiple characters. First-person PoV of Damon. "One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious." Rated: M for Language, Violence, Adult Themes/Content.
1. Prologue: Beginning of the Beginning

"You did what?!" I ask, and I'm half scolding her and half legitimately curious because my ability to understand and process the English language is questionable at the moment. What's more, I'm fairly certain she's trying to tell me something without actually saying it, because she's giving me wide eyes and raised brows as she admits something about '_helping __**her**_' under conspicuously hushed tones. But I have no fucking clue what she's trying to say. Hell, I'm lucky to even know where I am right now.

I just watched my former-best-friend-turned-psychotic-immortal-killing-machine wither up and die in my arms like an insect in a time-lapse documentary, and I'm pretty sure I caused a 4-car pile-up on the highway as I drove over here like a bat-out-of-hell in complete disregard of any and all traffic laws. Most importantly I'm still trying to convince myself that Elena can't possibly be …_Fuck you, I'm not saying it_… No. There's obviously some other mystical, magical, juju explanation for the way Alaric just spontaneously petrified in my arms not more than an hour ago—because I seriously have no capacity to imagine a reality where I can actually put the words 'dead' and 'Elena' into the same sentence as any sort of statement of fact.

_Elena. You are not dead._

I see that look in her eyes though, and all the emotions pouring out of them speak the words that she couldn't manage—fear, uncertainty, regret, sorrow, sympathy, apology, guilt. I've got over 160 years in this world, many of which have been spent hunting, seducing, and eating other humans. I can read them like a book. This time it takes me a minute to comprehend what the fuck is happening in this waking nightmare I've been thrust into, but a minute is all it takes before I'm able to flip the cover open on this particular book standing in front of me. And this nightmare just got a _whole_ hell of a lot more fucked up.

I'm not sure what happens next, to be quite honest. I'm not really paying attention to anything or anyone else, and the next thing I know, I'm throwing open a pair of double-doors so hard they crack the tiles on the adjoining walls. And then I'm frozen. My limbs stop working and my blood runs cold in my veins—as cold as she looks lying there on that metallic slab protruding from the far wall. Everything else goes blurry, small, and dark. And all I can see is her lifeless body lying there, still and silent as the grave. Her lips are purple and her skin is as pale as snow. Her hair is matted and damp, and her eyes are closed. She looks so damn peaceful, and still—eerily, morbidly—beautiful; but none of that is even an ounce of comfort to the most dreadful pain I've ever felt rip through my body.

I grasp the corner of the entry wall like I'm holding on for dear life because I feel like someone is ripping my intestines out through my windpipe with a meat hook right now. I literally can't feel my legs, and I have no idea how I'm still standing upright because I'm fairly certain the tiles of the wall under my hand are starting to crumble. It takes everything—and I mean _everything_—in me to begin to slowly stagger forward, because I still don't believe what my eyes are trying to tell me. I don't even acknowledge Stefan's presence where he's sitting on the other side of the slab she's lying upon as I approach her side. And my face is literally beginning to hurt from how contorted it must be right now.

Just as I approach her side, and right as I'm about to reach my hands out to touch her face, she jolts up gasping for air like she just resurfaced from being submerged under water for an entire minute too long. My eyes go wide—wider than they already were—and I'm pretty sure my slowly beating heart, or whatever is left of it, stopped working for a few seconds. I'm staring down at her like a slimy little alien just popped out of her chest, and Stefan is already on his knees beside the slab she's now sitting on, holding her hand in his own.

She looks to her hand where Stefan's touching her, then she turns to look up at me, and she looks just as scared and confused as I feel, and my heart breaks just a little more.

"What—," she starts but her voice hitches in her throat before she tries again, looking back at Stefan now. "What's going on? What happened?"

I can't decide whether to cry or jump for joy right now. I never saw this coming. Then I realize that's not a bad question. How the fuck _did_ this happen?

I wish I had an explanation for her, I wish I could give her all the answers she wanted, but I was just as clueless as she was. I try to find my voice. I try to say something, anything—something comforting, something soothing, something sarcastic. Fuck me, I can't even form words right now. All I can do is reach out to touch her face, hesitating as I do because I'm afraid this isn't really happening and I've just been hallucinating ever since I slammed the doors open not just a few of minutes ago. My fingers finally make contact with the soft curve of her cheek and the remnants of my fractured heart immediately _drop_. It is real. _She_ is real. And just like that, I'm basking in the warmth of the summer sun—a soothing heat flowing through me the moment my fingertips make contact with her skin, and she feels so fucking good. So alive. The feeling is so strong I don't even notice how cool her skin actually is. She's looking at me now with those big, doe eyes of hers that completely disarm me, her face etched with concern that seems to be softening to my touch as she gazes up at me, but the moment doesn't last.

"Elena…, " Stefan begins, all furrowed brows and solemn eyes, and just like that she turns away from me to look at him, and after a brief moment I do to. He better have some answers, because I'm already missing her eyes.

He's got both of his hands clasped around her hand now; his voice is unsteady and his eyes are glassy, and I don't know what the hell he's about to say, but whatever it is, it can't be good. I look between them for a moment, but she's got a dark curtain of damp, matted hair obscuring her face. As if on cue, she lofts a small hand to sweep her wet hair back behind her ear, and I'm silently praising whatever god exists now because I really needed that. I needed to see her face.

"You were with Matt, in his truck, on your way back to Mystic Falls."

"Klaus died. We were heading back because Alaric staked Klaus," she said with a raspy whisper and a subtle shake of her head, like she was remembering bits and pieces. Stefan nodded and averted his eyes from her, looking down to the floor for a brief moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were full of uncertainty and anguish.

"Rebekah… she knew Klaus was dead. She came after you to stop Alaric. Matt's truck went off the side of Wickery Bridge." Tears were falling down his face now and he was practically sobbing as he continued, "I tried, Elena. I tried to get to you as fast as I could. When I found you, you were both trapped in the truck at the bottom of the river."

_Goddammit, Stefan. This is not the fucking time to blubber._

"Matt? Where's Matt? Is he alright?" Her free hand shot up to her mouth. Leave it to Elena to be concerned about the quarterback after she just woke up on a cold slab of death. I reach out to place my hand at the nape of her neck, my fingers trying to massage away her worry and tension. I really just needed to touch her. She turns her head to peer back at me, but she doesn't pull away.

I'm trying not to think about our last conversation on the phone.

I think Stefan was trying to smile, but it turned into more of a grimace. "He's fine Elena. He'll be just fine. But… He was unconscious under water. I tried to pull you out—"

"But I wouldn't let you. I made you get him first." She interjected mid-sentence, and Stefan just closed his eyes and nodded, a few more tears streaking down his face.

"Wait, what?" The words just came out of me even as I was trying to process what had been said so far. They both looked up at me now, and I don't even realize my hands are balled up into fists at my side.

"Damon—" Stefan began but Elena interrupted him again.

"But how am I _here_?"

"Meredith. That's what she meant," I answered, almost like I was thinking aloud to myself. I looked down to her, and a part of me already knew it, but I guess I just hadn't really let it hit me yet. "When you were here before, after you hit your head, she said she lied about how bad your injuries really were. She said she needed to _help_ you." I paused for a moment because this next part is just now registering for me, even as the words leave my lips, "You're in transition, Elena."

I know it's fucked up, and I know it's not what she wanted, but I don't care. She's alive—well, alive enough—and that's all that matters to me. Better she be in transition than a corpse. I don't know what I'd do if she were truly dead—death and destruction of biblical proportions would surely ensue. I'm liking Meredith a lot more right now, but I still feel gutted when her glossy dark eyes drift down from mine and she mouths a silent 'oh' as my words sink in. I try to ignore that feeling of emptiness I'm left with as her eyes abandon mine again. Instead, I occupy myself with thoughts of exciting and innovative ways—all of which include some form of fire—to end that bitch, Barbieklaus. Oh yeah, she's fucking _dead_ next time I see her.

"After I pulled Matt out of the water… when I came back for you, I was just too late. I wasn't fast enough."

I don't know how long it took, seemed like about a split second, and I've got my forearm pressing against Stefan's throat, pinning him to the far wall. I start to hear a muffled crunching sound as my arm begins to crush his larynx before the broken shards of tile from the wall behind him even clatter to the floor below. I don't hear Elena's gasp, or her screaming my name in protest. The blood is gushing into my eyes and my fangs have dropped down to say hello. I'm blind, deaf and numb with pure rage, and I'm actually surprised it took this long for the keg to explode. I guess I was just having trouble digesting all the crazy tonight.

Stefan is choking out a gargled death rattle, grasping ineffectually at my arm, and I'm just watching him slowly die, not even caring to give him a chance to spit out any excuse, clarification, or rationalization. Nothing he could say now would make any difference. Elena's grasping at my shoulder, tugging at my leather jacket, trying to pull me back as she continues to scream at me to stop, but I don't budge. My face in inches away from my brother's, and I'm just glaring at him as he's choking out on his last few breaths. Then I hear her sobs and tears spilling out over her pleas. It's like someone just dumped a bucket of freezing cold water over my head, and I can't help but turn to look at her, letting my brother fall to the floor before I had finished breaking his neck.

Quick as she can she's at his side, and he's all crumpled up hacking up blood into his hands. I look at them both there on the floor, my brother getting coddled by the girl I love—the girl who he let _die_ in the same fucking river that her parents died in—and I'm not sure what's worse, my shattered heart or my seething anger. So I do what comes natural, what feels best, or rather what feels less—I go cold and callous. I need about five stiff drinks and no less than one warm body to drain completely dry right now before I lose whatever pitiful grasp on my sanity I've still got.

I've reached my limit for the night. The girl I love broke up with me over the phone on my own deathbed, and we weren't even together. _How the fuck does that work, anyway?_ I faced certain death at the hands of my once-best-friend. I watched my once-best-friend die for a second time. Elena _was_ dead. My own brother _let_ her die. Elena's now in _transition_. And I'm just fucking spent. I don't know what I should be feeling right now, but all I _am_ feeling is overwhelmed. I've got a million emotions crashing over me like a tidal wave, and my body just physically can't take it right now, to mention nothing of my heart or my mind—both of which are in complete disarray.

I don't say another word as I stalk out of the hospital and head back to the boarding house. Meredith tried to stop me again, but I didn't give her the chance to waylay me with anything else. I never bothered picking up that warm body on the way home.


	2. Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole

It didn't take me very long to get back to the boarding house. I shouldn't have been surprised to find the quarterback and Baby Gilbert loitering outside my front door—all sad, vacant eyes and frowny faces. I knew what was coming next, and I really wasn't in the mood for it. Elena and Stefan were no doubt just a minute or two behind me, and now the whole merry gang will surely be coming out of the woodwork to turn her transition into some kind of intervention-slash-group-therapy-session, and I can't help but roll my eyes at the thought as I make my way toward the door.

I don't know how much they know, but I assume they know the worst of it if the air of doom-and-gloom about them is any indicator. I don't pay them much attention, nor do I bother saying anything as I brush past them and open the door. Baby Gilbert's looking at me warily, probably wondering if I'm going to take a flying leap off the deep-end and break his neck again, but I got that out of my system back at the hospital. The quarterback can't even make eye contact with me, and that's probably in the best interest of his own health right now.

As soon as I'm inside, I'm making a beeline for the liquor cart, discarding my leather jacket over a nearby sofa, and then proceeding to fill a crystal tumbler with about four fingers of bourbon. Jeremy and Matt are slow behind me as they enter the parlor together. I don't look over my shoulder, but I turn my head a bit to consider the silent tension in the room. Then I'm pouring two more glasses because I seriously have no qualms about contributing to the inebriation of minors—somewhere hidden deep down inside, in that poor excuse for the good guy, I know they both need it. I quickly gulp back the contents of my glass before refilling it just as high and then I'm rounding the sofa.

"Thanks," Jeremy says. I look back to him and he actually seems to be handling things fairly well, given the circumstances. So I just give him a quick nod.

"Is Ric… is he—" Jeremy continues, but the kid's clearly not as held together as his appearance might otherwise suggest—that same appearance which is now choking back a swig of bourbon.

We've got a colorful history, me and Baby Gilbert. But despite all the terrible shit, we've also managed to develop some kind of strange understanding. Yeah, I never saw that one coming either. Fucking Gilbert kids and their capacity to empathize and forgive—I'm still not sure what to make of all that, because I sure as shit don't make it easy for either of them.

"Yep," and I pop that P through liquored up lips as I lower the glass from my mouth.

"But don't kid yourself, Jer. Ric's been dead since the decade dance from hell," I clarify without reservation.

I decide not to mention anything about the two corpses I have stashed away in the trunk compartment of Klaus' SUV.

_Fucking witches._

There's no denying how important Ric was to both of us, even if I'll never admit it aloud. He was like my brother from another mother, and to the Gilberts he was some kind of quasi-father-figure, or even a badass uncle. That's something else we'll always share, I suppose. And maybe that makes his loss a little less painful for the lot of us.

_Neither one of us is drunk enough for this conversation._

I can almost imagine Ric in the room with us, all wise eyes and kind smiles—I really am going to miss that drunk sonofabitch. Jeremy allows himself a flimsy simper, looking like he's reading my mind even as I drown a subtle smirk into my glass and take another gulp. The shared moment fades along with my smirk when my sensitive ears hear Stefan's car pulling up the drive-way.

"Let the games begin," I sigh after finishing off the remainder of my bourbon.

Then I'm blurring down to the basement to retrieve a blood bag or two from the freezer. It shouldn't take me long, but I linger for a while—procrastinating, stalling, eavesdropping. I'm not especially looking forward to dealing with what comes next, because I know it's bound to devolve into unnecessary drama full of looks that last longer than they should and unspoken words. I still don't think she realizes the power behind those chocolate eyes of hers.

"Elena!" I hear Baby Gilbert rush across the parlor to practically tackle his older sister.

She's really all the kid's got left at this point, and the poor bastard came _this close_ to losing her tonight. I wonder if his inner dialogue is as fucking dismal as mine. I wouldn't be surprised.

"Jer..." Elena's voice is quiet, soft, reluctant, and tinged with sorrow.

I hear her backpedal from him as Stefan intercepts the younger Gilbert in his mad-dash to clobber his big sis.

"Elena's in transition, Jeremy. You and Matt should probably keep your distance… at least for now," Stefan says, his voice still hoarse from my little outburst of murderous intent at the hospital.

_Yeah, no thanks to you. Douchebag._

"Oh… right. Well, whatever. I'm just glad you're… okay, Lena," Jeremy says, disappointment and resignation coloring his tone.

"Thanks, Jer," she says, and I can almost feel her expression brighten just a little bit. But I know Elena, and having to stay away from her own brother for fear of eating him alive has got to be fucking with her something fierce.

I don't want to admit it, but Saint Stefan is probably right—and somehow that just pisses me of even more than I already am. If Elena couldn't already smell them from outside the door, she'll be able to soon enough. She's not exactly a vampire yet, but that bloodlust is going to start creeping up on her before she knows it. She won't be able to explain it, or understand it, but as the minutes tick by, her control will become that much more precarious. No one is ever prepared for the hunger, and the minute you don't respect it, it'll fucking take you and anyone in your vicinity by surprise. And it doesn't discriminate. Elena's been through enough shit—she doesn't need the guilt of feeding on her baby bro or the fucking quarterback on top of everything else. And I'll be goddamned if she completes her transition on the blood of her kin. We all know how Stefan's sorry ass turned out.

I'm up the stairs and in the kitchen in the blink of an eye, filling a couple of mugs with AB-positive before popping both mugs into the microwave for a quick nuke.

"Elena… Elena, I'm so sorry," I hear the quarterback finally find his voice, and it's cracking and strained like he can barely open his throat enough to speak. "I-I didn't mean for any of this to happen. God, Elena, I'm so sorry."

"Matt… it's not your fault. Really, it's okay," Elena responds, and even I'm surprised by how calm she seems to be.

Elena's always been one of the strongest people I've ever known—that's one of the many things I love to death about this girl—but hell, even she deserves to break down, especially considering all the shit that's hit the fan in the last 24 hours. Yet, she hasn't. She seems to be more cool and collected than anyone else in the house right now, and that's got me curious and wary in equal measures.

_There's only so much hurt a man can take._

"I don't blame you, Matt. Or you, Jer. I promise. I'm just glad to see that you're both… that you're _all_ okay. I didn't think I'd get to see any of you again. This isn't ideal, but at least it's something, right?"

I can't help but smile. How is it that she's the one offering up comforting words to everyone when she's the one who just woke up from death, finding herself smack-dab in the middle of transition? I don't think she'll ever cease to amaze me.

My distracted admiration is interrupted by the red flags springing up in my head. She's _too_ calm. _Too_ collected. Something's up here, I can feel it—like a set of icy digits stroking up my spine under my skin. It's something in the delicacy of her tone. That Petrova fire that's always just beneath the surface, ready to ignite—it's missing. And now I'm starting to freak out a little bit.

I'm back in the parlor before anyone even notices, a mug of warm blood in each of my hands. My nostrils are _saturated_ with the acrid, rusty aroma permeating the air of the parlor from the mugs I hold. It's such a heady scent, and there's pressure behind my eyes and an aching in my gums, but it's nothing I can't handle. Stefan and Elena, on the other hand, aren't prepared, and in an instant they've both got their eyes staring in my direction. I greet them with a smug smirk. She's looking at the mugs in my hands at first, but like magnets our eyes are inevitably drawn to each other—happens all the time, and it _never_ gets old.

"Don't mind me. Just bringing the lady her cocktail," I say.

And yeah, I'm being all the arrogant, presumptuous bastard I can be right now. What else is new? Hell, at least I'm looking at the bright side of this fucktastic situation we've got on our hands.

I've got my eyes locked on Elena's and she finally manages to force herself to look away, raising a hand to her face as if to guard herself from the assault on her senses. Her still-tangled locks cascade down as she turns her head, obscuring her face. And it's all I can do not to blur over to her and brush her hair back behind her ear.

"Damon…" Stefan begins, but I cut him off before he can get a word in edgewise.

"Tick tock, brother. Time's a wasting. Might as well get this over with."

Jeremy and Matt don't seem to have picked up on the subtext drifting through the room just yet, judging by their oblivious expressions. And I'm making a show of taking a sip from one of the mugs in my hands now, making sure to communicate to the rest of the room just how delectable the blood tastes as it slips over my tongue and down my throat.

"_Mmmm-mmm_. So good," I say with a loud whisper and a refreshed sigh.

"Damon, we haven't really talked about—," Stefan starts again, but I'm having none of it.

Hell, I'm flat-out ignoring Stefan at this point. I've got my eyes locked on Elena as she tries to keep her distance and avert her attention, and I'm striding across the room toward her with a confident swagger.

"Oooh, _Elena_. I've got a special mug here just for you," I tease with a sing-song tone and a waggle of my eyebrows.

I know my taunting is hitting home when she sweeps that curtain of chestnut hair she'd been hiding behind back over her ear to peer at me as I draw closer, and closer. I catch her glance with my eyes and give her a shark's grin. Her eyes shift down to my mouth for a moment, but just a moment, and then they're settled back on my own, and she's got her lower lip caught between her teeth. Hell, I'd be nibbling on that lip every chance I got, too. _So_ fucking adorable.

_Focus, Salvatore._

I hear that tell-tale whisper in the air and then Stefan's between me and my would-be prey, all hero hair and broody brows. My eyes roll up and widen with exaggerated exasperation.

"Spare us all the dramatics, Stef. She's gotta drink," I explain sardonically.

Saint Stefan looks like he's about to dive right into one of his white knight tirades—no doubt something about respecting her decisions or some such nonsense—but then she appears from behind him, nudging him aside.

"Damon…" She looks at me for a long moment, and she's doing her damnedest to steel herself before she continues, looking to Jeremy now, "…I-I'm not going to complete the transition."

Now I've got a knot in my throat that feels like someone just stepped on my Adam's apple, and I have to make a conscious effort to relax before the mugs in my hands crack under my grip. Luckily Baby Gilbert vocalizes my exact thoughts, sans the excessive profanity.

"Wha-What are you talking about, Elena? If you don't complete the transition, you'll die… _again_!"

Jeremy's throwing caution to the wind now, realizing this is a desperate situation. He knows Elena, and he knows just how obnoxiously stubborn she can get when she makes up her mind about something. So he strides up to her and gets right up in her face, all tough brotherly love and righteous indignation.

"Damon's right, Lena. You _have_ to drink. You _have_ to complete the transition," Jeremy states matter-of-factly, and Baby Gilbert is quickly racking up the cool points in my book.

"Please, Jer. Don't make this any harder than it already is. I _can't_ be a vampire," Elena says, her hands on his shoulders now.

"Bullshit, Elena. Why the hell can't you? Caroline did it. If she can make it as a vampire, you sure as hell can too," Jeremy responds, and god-love-him he's got her on the ropes now. Clearly I've been a positive influence on the young Gilbert.

The quarterback approaches Jeremy's side as a show of moral support, and Stefan looks like he's trying to figure out which team is going to win the battle so he can decide who to root for. Elena releases her brother's shoulders and she's shaking her head with her mouth open, as if she's trying to vocalize an adequate response, but Baby Gilbert just presses on.

"I've already lost you once tonight. I _won't_ lose you again, Elena. Just how many times do you have to die before you accept the fact that you're not meant to?!"

"Jeremy—," Stefan begins as he sees Elena go rigid, looking helpless against her brother's relentless onslaught.

"Now, now, brother," I interrupt, because I'm not about to let Saint Stefan take the wind out of Baby Gilbert's sails. "I think you've filled your quota of getting Elena dead for the evening. Why don't you stay the fuck out of it?" It wasn't really a question. And yeah, I made sure my words were full of venom and blame, but I'm past the point of giving a fuck about Stefan's delicate sensibilities.

He gives me his best scowl, but I can see the layers of guilt and pain hiding behind that self-righteous façade he dons, and I just smirk back at him through lazy-lidded eyes.

"Damon! That's not fair," Elena says with that cute little pinched brow she gets when she's pissed.

But now, even the quarterback is jumping into the melee.

"Look, Elena. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to be alive, but don't think for a minute I wouldn't trade places with you right now if I could. If you let yourself die like this… How am I supposed to be able to live with that for the rest of my life?"

"And what about Vicki, Matt? Have you already forgotten about what happened to her? Do you want that for me too?" Elena says, gaining a bit of ground against what's now become a tag-team match.

Matt's visibly shaken by that, too—don't let it ever be said that Elena can't play dirty when she's backed into a corner. Looks like the quarterback's down for the count, for the time being. But I see it now—that innate Petrova fire sparking back to life. Of course Elena resigned herself to the grimmest fate she had available to her. Setting aside the little minx's paradoxical propensity toward suicide, she got it in her head that she had to do what was _right. _And in her pretty little naïve head of hers, what is right translates into _not_ choosing to be a vampire. Except this time, she didn't really believe in her own bullshit. And now that she's getting called out on it, that magnificent Petrova fire is like a flame under her perfectly sculpted ass, trying to launch her out of her self-imposed surrender, even if she's doing everything in her power to snuff it out. But Jeremy's having none of it—seems like he's only ready to push harder after that Vicki comment.

"And what about Jenna, and Ric, and John, and Tyler, and Anna, and everyone else who's died, Lena? Even Isobel. What about Abby, and Caroline? What about the months we've all spent pulling each other out of the hell we all found ourselves in? Trying to protect you. Is all that for nothing? Did all those people suffer in vain, Elena?" Jeremy said, casting mercy completely out the window now, and even I was surprised by how far he dared to go with that retort. And it definitely stung.

Elena was taken aback, fresh tears pooling in her big brown eyes now, threatening to spill from her lashes. She crossed her arms over her chest, and clenched at her own elbows as she hung her head. Immediately, Jeremy sighed realizing how harsh his words were, but his face betrayed no regret. I had to give him credit, he was going balls to the wall, and wasn't about to make this easy on her. Love—even of the familial persuasion—isn't always about kittens and rainbows. I'm trying not to remind myself of how true that's been for me as well.

Baby Gilbert ran a frustrated hand through his head of short hair and turned to take a few steps back to join Matt on the couch, allowing the dust to settle a bit. Matt was sitting on the sofa now, drinking down the rest of the bourbon I had prepared for him before, still recovering from the jab about Vicki. And Stefan was, of course, moving in to comfort Elena with a hand on her shoulder as she began to whimper.

Well fuck this, I'm not about to let things settle now. She just needed a little extra nudge, so if no one else wants to do it, I'll be more than happy to fulfill my role as the resident bad guy. Besides, I sure as shit can't handle her little sobs right now—each soft whimper like a shank twisting into my gut.

_I don't mind being the bad guy._

I enjoy a big gulp from my mug of blood, then set it down on the coffee table behind me before turning back to face a sobbing Elena once more.

"Why _can't_ you be a vampire, Elena?" I ask, laying the bait.

After a brief moment she looks up to me, all tear-stained cheeks and sniffles that whittle away at my resolve. And I'm biting my tongue now just to distract myself from the urge to reach out and pull her flush against my chest with both arms.

"I can't do it, Damon. I just can't." She says to me, but it's more like a plea.

"Do you want to die, Elena? Is that what you _really_ want?" I ask, my tone softening.

"No," She manages in hardly a whisper as she shakes her head, and the tears stop spilling from her eyes, at least for the moment. And fuck me if it's not taking everything in me not to reach out and brush those last few stray tears from her cheek.

"Well you only have two options, Elena. You feed or you die. There is no door number three," I say without reservation before I take a breath and continue. "If you _really_ don't want to die, then you've only got the one other option. Besides, Jer was right. That was bullshit, because you _can_ make it. Hell, Elena, if anyone can make it, you can. I can't promise you that it'll be easy, but you're too damn strong to let a little blood get the best of you. You're needed _here_. Alive. If that isn't enough, then I don't know what is."

With that, I gingerly offer her the neglected mug of blood I've been holding this entire time. And I know my words hit home when I look back into her eyes and they absolutely swallow me whole, tears ready to overflow once more, but these aren't tears of grief. No. She's thankful, scared, hopeful, anxious, and really just a veritable clusterfuck of colliding emotions. But that's how I know she's ready to dive right into the unknown—head first. She's ready to step outside of that perfect, neat little cube she's been living in and skate along its edge. And she may be an absolute mess of red eyes and tangled hair, beaten down by the barrage of all the emotions and realities twisted up in her gut, but goddamn if she's not _still_ the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on.

I can't help but give her a warm smile as she takes the mug from my hand and tips it up all squinty eyes and disgusted grimace, like there's no turning back.

_But at the end of the day, I'll be the one to keep her alive._

Then, I'm ushering Baby Gilbert and the quarterback out the door and heading upstairs to my own waiting bed, because fuck me, I feel like I've been run over by an 18-wheeler. I spare a final glance back to her as I begin to reach the top of the stairs, and she's gazing up at me over Stefan's shoulder, even though she's wrapped up in his arms. She gives me a genuine smile and mouths 'thank you'. I force myself to smile back, because as good as her gratitude and smile make me feel, I don't want to let her see that cesspool of pain I'm hiding just beneath the surface.


	3. Chapter 2: What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note: There isn't going to be a whole lot of dialogue in this chapter, but I assure you it is an important chapter nevertheless. I'd also recommend you read the companion-piece, "The Abyss", if you haven't already, as that short one-shot is relevant to what's beginning to take place here.**

**Just want to give a quick thanks to my readers who have taken the time to follow/favorite/reviews-it is very much appreciated, and I love hearing what you have to say about my story. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

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I don't know what ungodly time of the early morning it is, but I spring up from my restless slumber with my chest heaving like I just screwed the entire Pi Beta Phi sorority at Duke-U in rapid succession, and I'm drenched in cold sweat from head to toe. Don't even bother asking me why I'm having trouble breathing because I couldn't provide an answer to save my life. Hell, I don't even really _need_ to breathe—it's mostly force of habit. I run a shaky hand through my damp, raven locks and then wipe my face clean of the remaining beads of sweat peppering my cheeks and forehead. Then I'm sliding my legs, which feel like jelly, off the side of my sweat-soaked bed and I plant my feet to the floor. I sit there, hunched over with my elbows on my knees still trying to steady myself and gather my wits.

_What. The. Fuck._

As I finally begin to get a grip on that putrid sensation of nausea churning in my gut and pounding against my skull, my mind is working overtime trying to comprehend just what the hell is wrong with me. I've had some rough nights in my 160-plus years on this earth, but this is in a _whole_ new category of what-the-actual-fuck, and I can't even remember the last time I woke up in the middle of the night practically _drowning_ in my own sweat.

I lurch up off my bed, slowly finding my footing as my body is still straining to wake up and recover from whatever hellish abyss I just crawled out of. Then I'm stumbling through the dark, making my way to my private bathroom, and I hear a loud **_thump_** right before a sharp pain registers in my foot and spiders right up my shin.

_Motherfff…_

Yeah, I just stubbed my toe on the edge of my bed, and now I'm literally hopping along, trying my damnedest not to faceplant into the floor. _Way to go, Salvatore._ I am now surely counted among the select few vampires in the past century, if not in the entire history of vampires, to stub their fucking toe in the dark. I'm fairly certain I broke it too, but for some reason, which I can't be bothered to give much thought to, it takes a lot longer than it should to heal. And now I've got the bathroom light on and a steady stream of cool water pouring from the basin faucet.

I lean down with my elbows upon the edge of the sink, letting the cool water pool up in my hands before splashing it over my face—once, twice, three times. I allow myself a couple of deep breaths before I finally crane my neck and lift my head up to gaze back at my reflection upon the wall, and I look _ghastly_. Look, I'm not _that_ narcissistic or anything—in truth I've probably got some deep-seated self-esteem issues, whatever—but I know I'm easy on the eyes, to put it mildly. Right now though, I look like someone else entirely. I look like absolute _shit_. I've practically got world-tour luggage under each of my dark, bloodshot eyes, which I can't even seem to fully open, and that might explain my partially blurred vision. My usually-fair skin has faded to a shade of ashen that I might expect to be typical of a week-old corpse. My lips seem to have turned a bloodless shade of violet. And my limbs are _still_ trembling like dead leaves caught in an arctic breeze.

_Blood._

I definitely need some blood. I've always been at least mildly hungry after a nap, if whatever I just woke up from still qualifies as a nap, but this is different. This isn't just hungry, this is _the_ hunger and now it's absolutely _roaring_ for my attention. My gums start to ache something fierce, and I've got this indescribable _itch_ clawing away at the flesh beneath my skin like sandpaper. It doesn't make any fucking sense to me of course, because I just had a full mug of AB-positive only a couple of hours ago, but I feel like I haven't fed in about a two weeks straight.

So I turn off the faucet and towel off my face right quick before staggering out of my room and down to the first floor, wearing only a pair of black drawstring pants that sit low on my hips. Normally, I'd be blurring through the halls, all soft steps and vamp-speed, but I don't have the energy or the coordination for any that right now. I'm crossing the foyer to head down to the cellar, but I stop in my tracks when I catch the unmistakable whiff of that metallic scent in the air. My head snaps immediately toward its source and I've got one foot in front of the other before I even process that it's coming from the kitchen.

The kitchen door is closed, but I see that horizontal glow of light shining out from underneath, illuminating the hardwood floor before it. And my ears are apparently working again because I hear a single slow-but-strong heartbeat on the other side of the door, and I already know whose it is—it's the same idiosyncratic rhythm which lulled me to sleep last night. I pause before the door, and I'm trying to quickly think of a damn good excuse to avoid her entirely before the hunger starts making my decisions for me. That doesn't last long, because before I know it I'm already swinging the door open and stepping into the kitchen.

She's just standing there at the far side of the kitchen, mug of blood cradled in her small hands just under her face, leaning easily back against the counter, facing the door—like she's been waiting for me to enter. Of course, she wasn't quite expecting an extra from "The Walking Dead" to stumble in, if her horrified expression is any indicator.

"You too, huh? Where's _Stefan_?" I ask, and I can't help but spit out the first syllable of his name with a sneer, not even having to think about it, as if it were an involuntary speech impediment, or maybe a peculiar case of Tourette's.

"Damon!" She gasps out louder than she meant to, clearly surprised by my ghoulish appearance.

Those big, doe eyes go wide, and her flawlessly-formed brows shoot up toward the ceiling before she blurs to my aid, as if I had a stake sticking out of my gut or something. And good god, I'm nearly floored by that honey-sweet scent of jasmine that washes over me so suddenly I can almost taste her on my tongue. I'm surprised I didn't notice it sooner—I can usually smell her from 100 yards away—but my senses have been all out of whack since I slithered out of bed. I really don't want to, but I'm struggling to keep the beast at bay as it is, so I try to hold her at a distance with a stiff arm.

"Blood," I start with a raspy, strained voice. "I could really use some blood."

After setting her mug aside on the kitchen island, she's looking at me with frantic eyes, as if she's trying to understand why I look like I just crawled out of a tomb. But upon hearing my words she quickly turns back to the counter she had previously been leaning against and retrieves the half-empty blood-bag she had used to fill her mug before. With a sense of urgency she's back at my side, easily evading my attempts to ward her away from me as she raises the blood-bag's plastic tube to my lips. I've given up trying to keep her at a distance anymore, and I've got an arm slung across her shoulders now as I start sucking back that savory, sanguine elixir, and holy-mother-of-fucking-god does it hit the spot.

I can feel the liquid spill down my throat with each desperate swig, and it spreads through my body, not missing an inch, as if I were standing beneath the steamy sprays of my walk-in shower. I can literally feel my color returning along with my strength as the blood blooms life within once more. My toe finally ceases throbbing as my vampiric regeneration kicks into full gear. That itch beneath my skin fades away, and the pounding in my head gradually subsides until it ceases altogether. Before I know it the bag is drained dry, and I'm stepping away from Elena to retrieve another full bag she had discarded on the far counter, proceeding to leisurely suck down its contents as well.

"Damon? Are you okay? What the hell happened to you?" Elena asks, just watching me with confusion and wonder, her brows pinched together.

I've got my bare back facing her as I'm taking another couple pulls from the blood-bag, my free hand braced against the edge of the counter. Before I can turn around to respond, my consciousness is interrupted by a freight-train of images pouring into my mind's eye in chaotic fashion. Everything happens so fast, and yet nothing _actually_ happens—it's all just images and sensations in my head, and it's a total fucking mind-trip like I just guzzled back a full vial of liquid LSD.

My body feels consumed by cold, and I suddenly realize I'm under water. It must be night time or something, because it's dark as all hell, and there's no godrays shining through to cast those illusory shadows upon the sediment surface at my feet. Everything's blurry and there are little bits of debris dancing about me as they float through the gentle current of the water. I don't seem to be able to move, nor do much of anything other than just sit there at the bottom of whatever reservoir I'm trapped in. I can feel myself holding my breath to prevent the water from spilling into my lungs, but I also feel as if I _need_ to breathe. My extremities are starting to tingle from how cold the water is now, and that need to breathe fresh air is becoming more desperate and pressing. I don't know why I'm suddenly panicking, but I am—like an involuntary reaction that's ingrained into my DNA because I'm afraid of what I know is already going to happen. Next thing I know, I'm heaving in mouthfuls of dirty, cold water and it is abso-fucking-lutely excruciating. It's not just the sickening feeling of drowning, but the helplessness and terror of it all. I feel my belly and lungs beginning to fill up with each gasp I take, and there's this enormous pressure in my chest that's building by the second, threatening to crack right through my breastplate and my ribcage. It's all agony spiked with a heavy dose of dread now, and my limbs which had been flailing about don't even seem to be functioning anymore. Then the last bubbles of whatever air was left inside of me are rolling out of my nostrils and lips, floating their way up to the surface I could never reach, and the current of the water is turning my lifeless body about.

_This isn't fucking happening._

I see the quarterback's truck sitting there in the water, diffused beams shining out from the headlights into the dark water. Matt's nowhere in sight, but there's another figure in the truck's cabin, buckled into the passenger seat.

_This isn't. Fucking. Happening._

Of course I already knew who it was before I even recognized her—before my vision cleared enough to see her. Her long, dark hair is splayed out around her in every which way, lazily drifting and swaying about in the water. Her eyes are still open, but they're completely vacant and empty, and she's looking at nothing at all even though she's staring right at me. Her arms float out at either side of her. Her small hands are unclenched, and her long digits bent at a natural, relaxed angle. Her body is hovering just above the seat, still secured by the seatbelt across her chest and lap.

_Why the fuck is this happening?!_

And here I thought the drowning was bad.

"Damon? Damon, talk to me. Are you alright?" I hear Elena ask, her voice soft and full of concern.

And just like that I'm back in the here and now. The blood-bag I had been swigging from is on the floor at my feet, and it's taking both hands upon the edge of the kitchen counter before me to hold me upright. I feel a small palm and gentle fingers touching my bare shoulder blade, and the tension of every muscle in my body seems to begin to ease. I clench my eyes shut, trying to rid myself of that nightmarish image which is now seared into my brain, but at least I can finally breathe again, so I do.

"Damon, please. What's going on?" Elena asks, still waiting for me to respond, or give her any indication that I haven't gone bat-shit-insane, but, at this point, I'm not so sure myself.

I finally turn to face her, leaning back into the corner of the kitchen counter I had been bracing myself upon, and goddamn she's a sight for some severely sore eyes. I can't help but just gaze upon her, drinking in even the subtlest of her features and imperfections, not only because she's so drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous, but because she's _alive_. And after what I just experienced—after what I just saw—I think I've earned myself a moment of reverence for this amazing creature standing before me.

She had washed the river out of her hair and off her body after saying her goodbyes to Jeremy and Matt earlier that night—we all agreed it'd be better if she stayed out of the Gilbert household for a while, at least until she had a decent grasp on her new _unlife_. I busied myself with burying Ric's body and then relocating Klaus' coffin into the cellar of the boarding house after they left, so this is the first I've seen of her since then. Somehow I think she's become even more beautiful since her transition. I mean, for all intents and purposes she looks pretty much the same—sleek chestnut hair, soft olive skin, big doe eyes, luscious lips, long legs, and curves in all the right places. But there's something else now that I just can't quite put my finger on.

_Fuck it. It doesn't matter. She made her choice._

The moment doesn't last long enough, and I'm abruptly pulled down from the clouds I had drifted into by the harsh reality which awaits me in the present.

_I care about you, Damon, which is why I have to let you go. _

_Bullshit._

I can feel my muscles beginning to go taut again, and what was previously an expression of relief and admiration is now being replaced by my patented scowl, all contorted brow and icy glare.

"…Damon?" She says once more, and she's looking more wary now, yet she doesn't create any distance between us.

"I'm fine, Elena. Just needed a drink." I say, short and sharp. "You should go back to bed."

I lean down to pick up the blood-bag I had dropped, and she's leaning back against the counter-island now, taking her mug back into her hands as she assesses me with a skeptical look. I know she's not buying what I'm selling, but I don't even know fuck-all about what just happened, so I'll be damned if I'm going to try to explain it to her.

"I was thirsty too. Or hungry. Whatever you call it. I had some trouble sleeping too...," she says, and her voice drifts off even as she's still speaking.

She had been looking at my eyes when she started, but her gaze flickered down to my mouth, then somehow found itself working its way down my bare torso. I'm guessing she got distracted, but it didn't take her long to avert her eyes once they reached the low waistline of my drawstring pants, and realize she was beginning to ramble and gawk.

Fuck this. I can't deal with this maddening tension that screams sex which never seems to go away when we're in the same vicinity. I just woke up feeling like I crawled out of my own grave, got mind-fucked by god-knows-what, and now I'm going to have that fucking image of her drowned body in my head for at least the next century and a half. As if I don't already have enough shit plucking at the fragile strings of what's left of my sanity. I really, really don't fucking need any of this right now. But what I do need is to get the fuck out of this fucking kitchen because her smell, and her body, and her face, and her voice, and her heartbeat are all conspiring against me to lop off my balls at any moment now, and I like my balls just where they are. So fuck that.

I'm pushing off from the counter now with an annoyed grunt, and I can feel her eyes on me, but I'm doing everything in my power not to look at her, or smell her, or touch her, and certainly not to make eye contact. If I fall into that trap, I'll be stuck here for another ten minutes, minimum.

"Damon," she tries to stop me with my name on her lips, but I'm having none of it.

She's got that tone in her voice like she has something important to say—or at least something she thinks is important. But I just don't have the patience, nor do I have the inclination, to hear it right now. And frankly, I just can't be bothered to care. I did my part, she's not dead, and she made her choice, so what's done is done. I refuse to be _that _guy anymore, and I sure as fuck refuse to fall into another century and a half of time wasted on unrequited love. Been there. Done that. Got the fucking t-shirt.

"Go to bed, Elena. It's late," I say as I give the kitchen door a quick shove and blur back up to my bedroom, half-a-blood-bag in hand. And now I'm back where I belong, here in the darkness.


	4. Chapter 3: Vampire Smile

**Author's Note: Thank you all for your interest, and support, and comments! You're all wonderful, amazing people and you really do inspire me to write. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this whole chapter devoted entirely to DE! Ok, it's bittersweet, but it's still DE! So I hope you like it. I hope the pace isn't too terribly slow for you, in terms of plot-if it is, don't be afraid to say something. I just tend to get so caught up in writing these little moments, and before I know it I'm 3k+ words in *headdesk*. Hopefully I'll be able to cover much more ground in the next chapter.**

**Also, in case you were wondering, this chapter is named after the song, "Vampire Smile" by Kayla La Grange. I love this song because it reminds me so much of DE on so many levels. So I highly recommend that you go find it on youtube!**

**Ok, ok, I'm done. Off you go!**

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No sleep. That's all I got when I returned to my bedroom this morning after my starvation-slash-waking-nightmare episode in the kitchen. I just laid there in bed all morning—not even bothering trying to catch some stray Z's—staring up at the ceiling whilst trying to piece together just what the hell had happened to me last night. As if I would be so lucky. Of course, the fresh images of a drowned Elena plaguing my thoughts didn't make that task any easier. Likewise, the whole chilling experience of quasi-drowning in that god-forsaken river sure as shit didn't help anything either. The one thing I did know was that waking up in that thoroughly loathsome state must have had something to do with the episode in the kitchen—I don't know how, or why, but I can't shake the feeling that they were connected.

I remember feeling starved and just… _dead_ when I woke up—I could barely function properly, like I was just a few steps shy of full-blown desiccation. My senses were all disoriented, my strength was practically non-existent, I felt physically obliterated from the inside out, and I looked just as bad. Basically, I felt like I had _already_ drowned. Moreover, I couldn't remember what woke me up in the first place. All I knew was that whatever did wake me up in such an intensely ravaged state must have been pretty damn potent. It later dawned on me, lying there in my bed, that the dark reverie I found myself assaulted by only occurred immediately _after_ I had sated the hunger. After I had gotten that lifeblood back into my system, and my body began to repair itself, only then did it hit me all at once. It was almost like my brain couldn't remember whatever crazy ass dream I was having until it was actually working properly again—until it had the fuel and sustenance it required. But as soon as it did—_boom_—it all came flooding back.

Well, that's the best I could come up with anyway, and it still doesn't explain a whole lot. But it's all I got right now. So, in summation, I'm essentially being tormented—mind, body, and soul—by my feelings for Elena. Nothing new here. I'll just file this away in the veritable septic tank that has become my life. But I know deep down it's something else, even if I can't quite figure out what the hell that something else is. Maybe the witch is haunting me or something. It's not like she doesn't make a habit of blaming me for anything and everything bad that happens in this fucking town. That's all I need, another fucking curse to deal with. I bet she's conspiring with Vampire Barbie too. Nah, not even the wicked witch of the west would go that far, would she? Besides, she's got more important things to worry about, like making sure Klaus stays dead, and getting Elena hooked up with a daylight ring.

_Where the hell was the judgy little diabolist, anyway?_

Dawn's in full swing now, but I'm reluctant to roll my sorry ass out of bed just yet. I'm a bit wary about trying to catch a quick nap for fear of reliving last night all over again, but I shut my eyes anyway because it's not like I'll be finding any solace outside of my room what with Romeo and Juliet all hugged up in the same house. I'm just glad I didn't overhear any bumping and grinding last night, because on top of all the other insanity which was taking place, I'm fairly certain _that_ would have been the proverbial nail in the coffin.

_Stop being such a pussy. Why the fuck are you even thinking about her?_

Shit. There it is again. That honey-sweet scent of jasmine infiltrating my nostrils. Maybe if I pretend I'm asleep she'll leave me alone. _Fat chance_. Next thing I know, I feel the tickle of a few strands of my hair being brushed across my forehead, and then a feathery touch of fingertips down the side of my face. I'm practically crawling out of my flesh now because her touch is literally sending tingles—yes, tingles—across the surface of my skin, and her scent is wrapping itself around me like a warm blanket. It's taking every ounce of restraint I have to hold it together and play dead over here, because she's pushing the fucking envelope now.

_What the hell is she doing?_

I can't take it anymore, and she's showing no signs of stopping anytime soon—I'm guessing loverboy must be out on a nature walk or something, because there's no fucking way in hell she'd be here, in my room, doing _this_ if he were still in the house. I shoot my eyes wide open and stare up at her standing right beside me, next to the bed, but she doesn't seem surprised—she barely even flinches. Cool as a cucumber, she withdraws her hand from my face and offers me a soft smile.

"You never told me it would be like this," she says, breaking the lingering silence of the rather awkward moment I've suddenly found myself in.

I give her an inquisitive look, silently asking for elaboration with a single arched brow, and I'm doing my best to prevent my expression from softening at the sight of her—never mind the fact that she's basically gazing at me with some of the most reverent eyes I've ever seen.

She crawls onto my bed and sits Indian-style at the foot of the mattress, looking back at me, and she's just as radiant as the sun rising up over the horizon right now.

"There's just…," she begins and she's looking aimlessly around my room now, vaguely gesturing about with both hands, "…Everything is so much more. I never thought it'd be like this."

I adjust myself on my back to get a better look at her, bending my arms upon my pillow to rest my head on top of my hands. I'm looking at her through lazy-lidded eyes, and she's got this precious look of awe and fascination sparkling in those big, doe eyes of hers that clarify what her vague words fail to.

She settles her eyes back on mine, and she's still beaming as she continues, "It's like I'm _seeing_ for the first time. I guess I was too caught up in everything else last night to notice it, but it's all so sharp, and vivid, and bold. Like I'm just now seeing this world that's been there all along, but has never existed before." She inclines her head a bit, simpering at herself as if she thinks she's sounding loopy. "It's just amazing, that's all," she concludes with another smile.

"What, you didn't think it was all scary faces and pointy teeth, did you?" I ask sarcastically.

She responds with a snicker under her breath and a quick shrug of her shoulders. "I guess not. Honestly, I didn't really know what to expect aside from the obvious. Stefan and I never did talk much about what it was like—not in any detail."

"Yeah, well, Stef always did have trouble appreciating the little pleasures in life," I say with just a dash of innuendo because I can't help myself.

"I think talking about it made him uncomfortable," she continued as if I hadn't even said anything. "Usually he'd change the subject, but even when I would press the issue, he never seemed interested in sharing much."

"Have you _met_ Stefan? You're talking about a guy who lives in a permanent state of denial, Elena—of course he's not interested in _sharing_," I state.

With that, her expression goes from bright smiles and warm eyes to thin lips and empty looks in the blink of an eye, and she's just staring blankly back at me now. I don't really notice this sudden change in demeanor right away, because my inner asshole is too busy reminding me of how much of a tool I am. As a result, I'm beginning to get irritated so I sit up and press my back to the headboard of my bed, my expression going stony before I even notice the u-turn she's already made.

_You're in your own room. Lying in your own bed. And you're talking to her about your brother. You should have your balls revoked._

I can feel myself glowering back at her now, but she's not even fazed. She's just sitting there in silence with that deadpan stare she's giving me which isn't exactly boding well for the direction this little encounter is about to go. She's got her hair bound back in a disheveled updo with her lips just slightly pursed, and she's all business now. She's wearing a pair of long black yoga pants, and thank god she's sitting down because those damn things cling to her perfectly sculpted ass like white on rice. Not that it matters since she's also sporting that tight little blue tank-top which isn't doing much to hide those multi-functional tits underneath—the same ones that can cut glass and purge all rational thought with nothing but a deep breath. I swear to god, I'm just going to resign myself to the fact that I'll forever be in a perpetual state of _screwed_ around this girl, what with the way she spins me about and tips my world ass-end-up every time I turn around.

Now it's like she's reading my mind, because she's giving me a blatant once-over for all the world to see—and yeah, I catch her admiring the view fairly often, but it's usually some sort of subconscious thing. _This_, on the other hand, is all kinds of purposeful, and I have no fucking clue what to make of that.

_This is sooo not gonna go well._

Elena's just sitting there, at the other end of the bed, all crossed legs and poker face like she's now fully aware of just how obnoxiously intrusive she's being, but she just doesn't give a damn. I thought I had this girl pegged, but her mood swings seem to have gotten as volatile and unpredictable as mine overnight.

I roll my eyes up as fleshy shutters close over them and emit an annoyed groan. Whatever this is, I know what it isn't—it sure as shit isn't how I wanted to get my now sure-to-be-miserable day started.

"You're an ass," she blurts out, and she's all narrowed eyes and righteous indignation.

Mind you, I have no fucking clue what she's on about now, but fine—if she wants to play this game, I'll bite. So I cock up a single brow and flash a pair of icy blue crazy-eyes which only I can pull off.

"Why are you even here, _Elena_? What about _me_ makes you think I want to talk about Stefan with _you_? Oh, and by the way, do you not understand the concept of _knocking_?" I retort, making sure my tone is laced with plenty of irritation.

"Oh that's rich coming from you, Damon. Do you not understand the difference between my _window_ and the front _door_?" She shoots back. And yeah, she's got a point, but I'll be damned if I concede it. Anyway, she's totally avoiding the real question—typical.

I let out another exaggerated groan as I sink back down into my bed. Then I'm turning over onto my stomach and burying my face into a pillow because I'm never going to win whatever battle we're about to have if I have to keep looking at her in that tight little outfit she's got on.

"Go away, Elena!" I protest through a pillow which muffles my words.

She's having none of it though. And in an instant she's straddling my ass over my comforter and pushing palms and curled digits hard into my bare back, pressing me into the mattress with nearly every word that leaves her lips. I can't help but tense up and grip the hell out of the pillow I'm hiding my face in as she proceeds to bounce me up and down—my resolve threatening to completely _crumble_ as I find myself pinned there between her thighs.

"You don't get to kick me out, you big jerk! You're sitting there talking about how _Stefan_ doesn't want to share?! You compelled me to forget. And now I remember. And we're going to talk about this whether you like it or not!" She insists, and now I'm wondering if she's scolding me or just being playful, because it's a tossup at this point, and honestly that scares the shit out of me.

Angry, pissed off Elena I know—I can deal with her. But playful, flirty Elena is another matter, because she's all about softening my armor in all the right places, and I really do not want to fall into _that_ particular trap. Not this time. At least I know what set her off now, but I'm still recovering from the whiplash I got from that 180 she pulled.

_Goddammit._

I knew this was going to happen. Well, I had a shred of hope that she'd pull her go-to denial card regarding the compulsions, but short of that I knew she was going to blow the whole thing out of proportion. I mean, so what if I met her first? So what if we had instant chemistry? So what if I pulled a catch-and-release with a confession of love? That's all in the past now and it's not like it's going to change anything, anyway. None of it matters anymore, assuming it ever did to begin with, so I really don't see the point in diving into that particular selection of histories.

"Get the hell off of me," I demand even as I pivot my hips to roll over, sending her careening off the side of the bed and onto the floor with a clatter. She's all sulks and glares now as I rise from the bed and begin to make way toward my bathroom, though I'm enjoying a satisfied smirk—however short-lived, once I hear her gather herself up and stomp after me.

"Don't walk away from me, Damon. We _are_ going to discuss this," she reiterates wearing a scrunched brow of determination accompanied by a pair of tiny balled-up fists at her side.

"What's there to discuss, Elena? I compelled you a couple times. _Big deal_. You'll get over it," I say, overdoing the listlessness in my tone. Then, I'm opening a cabinet to retrieve a towel which I proceed to hang over a glass wall of my walk-in shower.

"Don't. Don't even pretend to act like none of this matters, Damon. You had no right to say all those…," and she pauses for a moment, averting her eyes as if she's trying find the words in the air like they were floating around me, "…all those things and then make me forget them!"

I turn my back on the shower to face her now, and I'm giving her a patronizing look, "That's kind of the point of compulsion, Elena—so you _do_ forget them, and so we don't have to have these 'discussions'."

And that pisses her off something fierce, because now she's stepping forward to invade my personal space, hands on her hips and daggers in her eyes. The little vixen is full of fire and ice now, and I'm realizing this little exchange is getting far too heated far too quickly for my liking. It's not that I'm afraid to trade blows her—we both know every step to that dance, and we dance it oh, so well. The problem is, it's never just about trading blows when it comes to Elena and I. There's always that not-so-subtle undercurrent full of chemical reactions and magnetic attractions, and no matter how much we both try to pretend like it isn't there, that tendril of passion never ceases to coil around the both of us and inevitably draw us together. And fuck me, I just don't have the strength to do this anymore knowing that I'll always be b-string on her roster.

_Sonofabitch._

She's poking my chest with a rigid finger now as she glares up at me, "That's crap, Damon, and you know it. You don't tell someone you love them because you _don't_ want them to know. You're just afraid, because now that I remember you have no compulsion to hide behind."

"Is _that_ what this is about?" I say, rolling my eyes in exasperation, trying to ignore the ripples that flow out over my chest like warm water with each dip of her finger into it, but she's not giving me an inch—she knows I'd take a mile. She's still glaring up at me, and she's clearly got no intention of backing down. "Like that was some big secret, Elena," I continue, "don't act so surprised. None of that matters anymore," and I'm sure to deliberately over-enunciate this last bit for good measure, "_None of it_."

"It _does_ matter, Damon! It matters to me!" She's pretty much just yelling at me now, stabbing my chest with that finger over and over, and her words are fast, and thrown together in a hurry, without care for prudence or propriety, "You're always hiding from me. _Always_. And now I have this memory of easily some of the most selfless, wonderful, _beautiful_ words you've ever said to me. And I _love_ that you said those things. And I _hate_ that you didn't let me remember. Because every time I think I have you figured out I somehow manage to find some _new_ part of you that I've _never_ seen before. And it confuses me. And gives me doubts. And makes me feel like I've never even really _seen_ you before even though I thought I knew you this whole time. And I don't understand. And I don't know what to think, or believe, or trust. And I've got all these _new_ emotions, and then all of these _old_ emotions. And they're all so much _more_, and so twisted up, and so much greater now. And I don't know what to do with them, or how to deal with them. And it's _freaking_ me out, and you're just so, you're just _so_…."

And with that she looks up at me, surely seeing that my eyes are practically bugging out of their sockets by now as I'm trying to keep up with and process everything she's been saying in her mile-long rant, and of course I'm completely speechless because she just threw so much shit at me I wouldn't even know where to begin. Her body's trembling like a leaf in the wind, and I can see the onset of fresh tears pooling in her big, brown eyes. She's drawing in breaths like she doesn't have air, and had I not been so absolutely mesmerized by the fucking deluge of passion pouring out of her in that moment, I might have actually seen the next part coming. But I didn't, and it takes me completely by surprise.

Next thing I know, her eyes go dark as blood spills into them, and she breathes out a frustrated groan as she shoots her hands out to grab my face. Then I'm pulled right into her. And I'm powerless to resist now, so I dive headfirst into that maelstrom, and our lips crash together and she's thrusting her body flush against mine. Now it's all scorching heat, and lashing tongues, and grasping limbs, and descended fangs, and nothing else exists in that moment because we've both gone supernova and burned the world around us to ash and dust. My back collides with the glass wall of the shower behind me so hard that I hear it crack and splinter even as she's clawing up my body like a kitten climbing my leg. I've got a handful of her ass, crushing her hips into mine, and she's got a fistful of my hair forcing my head to cant into her ardent kisses. She's whimpering these delicious little moans into my mouth, and it's like a siren song that reverberates through my bones and sucks me into that beautiful oblivion which only we can find together. She tastes of nothing but sex and candy, and her intoxicating scent is invading my senses causing the room to spin, and my head to swim. There's tingling sensations in private locations, and it's all desire, and need, and lust, and rapture, and I'm totally fucking helpless to resist. As if that wasn't enough, the succulent aroma and tang of blood is added to the mix because our tongues have been thrashing so wildly we've both nicked ourselves on each other's fangs at least twice. The beast inside is mauling through its cage trying to break free now, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of my precarious footing just before the chasm in front of me. It takes everything—and I mean _every_ single drop of whatever pitiful excuse for resolve I have left inside of me—to summon every last ounce of strength I've got before I go tumbling down into that bottomless pit that leads straight to hell. But with a desperate last-ditch effort, I finally manage to push her off of me, hard and fast, and I'm left there all heaving chest, and ravished flesh.

_Fucking. Shit. Holy fuck._

Now she's staring back at me all weak knees and flushed face, and those dark, fiery eyes fade as silent tears begin to spill. There's no shame, or regret, or remorse, or apology in her eyes, but all the same she gives her head a subtle shake and without a word she rushes out of my room. And thank god for that because in one more second the dam _would_ break and there'd be nothing left to stop me from falling chest first onto that blade which cuts out my heart and slices me up into little bite sized pieces which she could swallow whole.

_What the fuck just happened?_

I'm left in something of an empty daze as I try and fail to wrap my head around the last 15 minutes or so, and how I managed to end up dry-humping my brother's girlfriend in my bathroom. I open the cracked shower door and turn the cold knob all the way on before tugging at the drawstring around my waist and letting my pants pool at my ankles. I spend the next hour bracing myself against the wall under the icy spray of water, and I'm still burning up from the inside out. I really can't fucking do this anymore.

I don't waste any time after I'm out of the shower. Stefan's finally back from wherever the fuck he disappeared to, so now I can get the hell out of here without having to worry about leaving the crazy ass baby vampire alone to her own devices. I throw on some dark jeans and a black shirt, then I strap into a pair of black boots. I pocket Ric's ring of keys as I head out of my bedroom and blur down to the cellar real quick to grab a couple of blood-bags. Then I'm shrugging my leather jacket onto my shoulders, and I'm heading downstairs, out the front door which I make sure to slam, and I'm finally in my baby—my Camaro, checking my missed messages on my cell as the engine roars to life. Bonnie's been blowing up my texts ever since last night, pleading, threatening, and whining for me to call her back—she even got Jeremy to send me a couple messages on her behalf as well. No idea what the fuck that's about. One message each from both Liz and Carol—that can't be good. Three messages from Elena, too—_DELETE_. And one from Meredith: _You helped her._

_Fuck my life._


	5. Chapter 4: Not That One Day

**Author's Note: Okay, folks. This one took me longer than usual, and was a real PITA for me. DE have no interaction in this one :( and I suspect that's part of the reason why it has been kicking my ass. Don't hate me! There's still lots of DE feels, I think! This chapter is one of those necessary chapters I just had to get through for the sake of the overarching plot (aside from the DE story). There isn't a whole lot of action, it's almost entirely dialogue.**

**All the same, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you find the direction of the plot interesting. I also hope I was able to do the characters justice. As far as spoilers for S4 go, I'm definitely going to be paying attention to some, and using them as best I can, but there are some spoilers I'll completely ignore (SE -_-). Likewise, you may also see some S4 characters make their way into the story in future chapters.**

**RE: Caroline-I know there are many Caroline fans out there, and I promise I am one of them too! (At least when she's not all Team Stefan) So, even though it may seem like I hate her in this chapter, I swear I don't! Don't kill me.**

**Finally, special huge thanks to Layla Reyne ( u/2788323/ ) for beta-ing this for me! She's wonderful! And awesome! And fantastic! Go show her some love!  
**

**And as always, I can't thank you all enough for your amazing reviews, comments, and support. 3**

* * *

One day. Is that really too much to ask? Personally, I don't think so. I think I've earned one day. Just one day to allow the dust to at least _begin_ to settle. One day without a brand new shitstorm on the horizon. One day without my heart getting put through the blender. One day without getting skull-fucked by _her_. Apparently, that _is_ too much to ask, because today is decidedly _not_ that one day. Today is like every other day. Anything and everything that can go wrong has either already gone tits up, or is well on its way. Hell, I'm sure there's a whole other Pandora's Box of shit—which I don't even know about yet—just waiting to unload a fresh, new crap-ton of chaos into my lap at any given moment. The best part is I'm not even really taking into account the recent lunacy back at the boarding house. Oh no. _That_ would be far too simple. Once I stepped out the front door this morning, I knew I'd be swiftly catapulted face-first into a brand-fucking-_new_ world of madness, the likes of which I have yet to encounter—and that's saying something. But hell, it was either that or stay in the snake pit now occupied by Elena. I'll take my chances with the former, because there is absolutely nothing good that can come out of choosing the latter. As I was saying: F_uck. My. Life_.

I don't know why I bother calling Meredith, to be honest. I already know deep down what she meant by her text, but I guess I just need to be sure. Or maybe there's some sick part of me that likes to hold on to fleeting threads of hope—no matter how many have since snapped and sent me plummeting. At this point I'm convinced that I must have some kind of sadomasochistic subconscious demon going out of its way to fuck with me. It's not that it's a big deal, really—that my blood facilitated Elena's transition. It's actually rather poetic in a totally mind-fucked-Shakespearian-tragedy kind of way. The rub of it, once again, is that I am trying to _distance_ myself from this girl and it's like the entire universe is working against me in complete disregard of my own mental stability. So here I am, one hand holding my cell up to my ear and the other hanging over the top of the steering wheel of my Camaro. And I don't know how I haven't caused a wreck yet, because I'm barely paying attention to the road since I'm far too preoccupied with deciding whether to laugh or cry over the sheer bleakness of what's become my reality in the past couple of days.

"Damon. Finally. I take it you got my text," Meredith infers with a relieved sigh through the cell-phone.

"Is there even the slightest possibility this doesn't mean what I think it means?" I ask rhetorically, wearing a doubtful expression on my brow, even though she can't see me, and even though I already know the answer. I'm definitely not _that_ lucky.

"I tried to tell you the other night at the hospital, but… well, there was a lot going on. It was your blood, Damon. The blood I took from you before, when I vervained you. Sorry about that, by the way," she says as I pull up in front of the Gilbert house and slap the gear into neutral, letting the Camaro idle there on the side of the road. In hindsight, it's probably a good thing that I ignored Meredith on my way out of the hospital that night, because with everything else that had happened, this little bit of information would have surely sent me tumbling even further down the spiral.

"So much for wishful thinking," I say to myself, thinking aloud.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know—," she begins, but really, I have no intention of holding this against her, nor am I about to let her gaffle away any guilt that doesn't belong to her. More to the point, I don't have time for this, so I cut her off short.

"Don't worry about it, Meredith. It's not _your_ fault she died," I insist, interrupting her. And I find myself nearly choking out that last bit as I recall that insidious, treacherous memory of her deceased body and vacant eyes. How could those eyes ever be so vacant? Those same eyes which are full of so much life; those same eyes which looked at me with such reverence; those same eyes that can break my heart into a million pieces and fuse them all back together again, just as easily. I hate this memory with every fiber of my being, and as I recall it, it nearly cripples me, causing every muscle in my body to seize momentarily. _Fucking hell. _I shake my head and close my eyes tight until they literally sting, and I'm repeatedly slamming my palm against the steering wheel until it throbs with pain, doing everything in my power not to scream. Doing all I can to clear my mind before finally pressing the parking brake pedal down and killing the engine of my Camaro. The moment passes as I manage to steel myself with a shuddery breath.

_Where were you, Damon?_

"Still, I can't help but feel responsible. I thought I was helping her," Meredith says, but I'm barely listening.

"You _did _help her. She wouldn't be alive now if it wasn't for you. Look, Meredith, there's plenty of guilt to go around, but this time you don't get any. Don't be greedy," I finally say, trying to distract myself with the conversation at hand. And I'm out of the car, walking up to the porch of the Gilbert house now as I spin my key ring around my finger once before tucking the keys into my jacket pocket. Distractions aside, that's the plain truth of it too—there is plenty of guilt to go around. Elena put her own life in danger for Matt's sake. Stefan didn't have the spine to go against her wishes. Barbieklaus devolved into a murderous temper-tantrum. Elijah couldn't keep his sister on a leash. And then there's me. I _broke_ my fucking promise. As much as I've been trying to ignore that fact, it's still gnawing away at the recesses of my mind where I try to keep it buried away. Of course it's a fool's errand, and in all honesty, despite all the blame I direct outward, I blame _myself_ more than anyone else. Maybe that's completely irrational, but it doesn't make it any less true, and I'm not sure I'll ever truly forgive myself for that. Fuck me, I really _can't_ think about this right now.

_Stop it. Not now._

In any case, I don't really know why I'm bothering to offer words of comfort to Meredith Fell now, but I am. Yeah, it makes me feel kind of weird, but I figure I owe her—and not just for how she essentially saved Elena's life, but also for what she did the night Ric died. _Fucking witches._ I don't know that I would have been willing or able to have that last drink with him had she not given me the nudge I needed, and I'm sure Ric appreciated the painkillers too. So yeah, she's done right by me. And I can't really stay mad at her over the whole blood-jacking thing since apparently that became Elena's salvation. This whole chain of events would be hilarious if it weren't so fucked up. Anyway, I must be going soft in my old age. But not to worry, I'm sure I'll get some evil deeds in before nightfall to make up for this little blemish on my bad-guy-image.

_To-do List: Buy bottle of bourbon. Give Ric's grave a shot. Eat sorority girls._

"How is she?" she asks, breaking the lingering silence over the line.

"Oh, she's nothing but peachy. It's all rainbows and lollipops. Honest. Gotta go now," I say with forced sarcastic levity, trying to end the conversation there.

It didn't take me long to revert back to my usual dick-self, but hell, I'm not about to go into details with Meredith. I mean, she's on my good side for the moment, but that doesn't mean we're all buddy-buddy now. I suppose I could do worse. In any case, Elena is actually doing fairly well if you don't count the whiplash-inducing mood swings, and the fact that a vial of nitroglycerin is probably more stable than her emotions right now. But other than that, she seems to be doing alright, considering. Then again it hasn't even been a day, and she's all cooped up at the boarding house, away from the temptations of thumping pulses and live prey. So it's not like she's really had an opportunity to royally fuck up. Yet. I'm really not looking forward to dealing with what follows when she does finally pop her cherry, by the way. The first kill is always the worst.

_Ugh. There you go again. Stop. Thinking. About. Elena. You pathetic piece of shit._

"Damon, wait. We have some big problems with the Council, with what Alaric told them…"

"And this day just keeps looking up," I grumble, in part because my inner dialogue is kicking me in the balls, and in part because this whole Council debacle is yet another pain in my ass which is now officially sore all over. "I've still gotta talk to Liz and Carol about _that_ lovely situation. I'll figure something out after I talk to them. Until then, just make yourself scarce and don't do anything stupid," I chide, and before she has a chance to respond, I end the call because I really can't shoot the shit with Meredith all day.

I spare a brief moment to run a hand through my hair, silently preparing myself for what awaits me behind the door, and then I ring the bell. Next thing I know my cell's buzzing at me to answer it, so I pull it out and check the caller ID. It's Stefan, of course, but fuck that. I'm not even about to listen to his shit right now, so I send his ass directly to voicemail right as Baby Gilbert opens the door.

"Oh hey, Damon," he says in greeting before stepping aside to give me a wide berth. "Bonnie's in the kitchen. Come on in."

"Oh joy," I say sardonically before continuing. "Your sister says 'hi', by the way," I tell him, and that's a lie, but she probably would if she could, so what the hell. Then I experimentally step through the threshold and head down the hall toward the kitchen.

Jeremy shuts the door behind me, locks it and follows after me, "How is she? We've been texting back and forth. She seems fine, but it's kinda hard to tell over the phone."

That makes me pause in my tracks in the hallway, and I turn to face him, aggravation creeping over my features. "Why the hell does everyone seem to _assume_ I'm Elena's keeper?" I scoff, not even making an attempt to answer his question. Elena's a lot of things—fucking beautiful, totally crazy, dangerously brave, and completely captivating—but 'fine'? Not so much. Not after the shit she pulled this morning, anyway. No reason to cause a scare though, she'll be 'fine' soon enough, after some time away from me. And Baby Gilbert is giving me an odd look now, like he doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about. "Why don't you ask _Stefan_," I continue, "Oh, and when you do, tell him not to leave his baby vampire girlfriend unattended anymore."

_Bitter much?_

I probably said a bit more than I had intended, but hell, I'm frayed at the seams over here. I had to high tail it out of the boarding house to get the fuck away from her, but no matter where I go she's weighing on my mind, whispering in my ears, and swimming in my vision. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ Mind you, I could tell him about _all_ the gritty details from this morning, but I'm sure as shit not about to open _that_ can of worms right now. Or ever. And especially not with him, or anyone else. Ever. Fuck, I don't even _know_ what that was, anyway—it sure as shit wasn't just a kiss. Hell, no. That was more like… a cosmic fucking event. I can _still_ feel it. I can _still_ feel _her_. I can _still_ feel everything that was rushing out of her and into me in that moment. And it _still_ feels fucking amazing. But I refuse to think about that right now, because if I do, I'll be in my car, leaving rubber on the road on my way back to her. And that _can't_ happen, because there's nothing back there for me. I can't give her what she needs—what she deserves. No, you know what, I know exactly what _that_ was, and it's par for fucking course where Elena and I are concerned. Granted she took it about ten steps further this time, but that's not the point. The point is, it was simply another Denver two-point-oh, and it doesn't mean a goddamn thing. Sure, she enjoyed a brief moment of brutal honesty and _…Don't even fucking go there…_ Right, anyway, _that_ was merely the less-than-day-old-baby-vampire talking, all melodramatic-basket-case and neurotic delusions. She'll get over it by tomorrow. Doesn't. Mean. A thing. What's more, I don't _want_ it to mean anything, because I'm definitely not about to make another run through _that_ particular gauntlet again. No fucking way.

_You're so full of shit._

Jeremy's giving me a confused look now, his brow slightly furrowed as he responds, "Wait, he left her alone? At the boarding house? With you? Huh."

I flash him a quick smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes, instantly recognizing the detour Baby Gilbert's annoyingly perceptive mind just took—Denver—as if he plucked the thought right out of my head. _Sonofabitch._ "Did you two drag me here to talk about something _important_ or is this another one of the Elena discussion hours?" I ask, gesturing a hand toward the end of the hallway in an attempt to usher him into the kitchen and end this conversation right then and there.

Jeremy tries to stifle a mild laugh with a subtle shake of his head as he proceeds toward the kitchen. "Whatever, dude. Oh, Rose says you're not fooling anyone, by the way," he jabs, looking back over his shoulder at me with a smirk. _Figures_. Rose is not only stalking me in the afterlife now, but apparently she's also issuing peanut gallery commentary to Baby Gilbert. I'm still pissed over how I never got to end Jules myself.

_Rabid bitch._

All I can do is groan at that as I follow Baby Gilbert into the kitchen where Bonnie is now sitting at the family dining table, instantly collecting herself and donning a straight face as soon as I step into the room. I'm not really sure what she felt was so dire that she had to blow up my texts all night and all morning, and then summon me to the Gilbert house, but I know it can't be anything good if it's coming from the witch. She's always been a pain in my ass. Though, I can at least respect the fact that she is willing to cross that line into the morally grey for the sake of getting shit done, but beyond that I'm not particularly fond of her—especially since she seems to have a death wish for me. And don't even get me started on the whole aneurysm thing. I really have to figure out how Katherine managed to get a grip on that.

_This is gonna be so much fun…_

"Damon. About time you showed up," Bonnie says, lofting a single brow, assessing me as I approach. She always looks at me like she's silently pointing out all my flaws in her head. Today is no different.

I slide into a chair and plaster a fake smile over my face as I level my attention on the broody witch. "Miss me?" I say, taunting her. Then Jeremy takes a seat on the other side of Bonnie, across the table from me.

Before anyone else can utter a single word, we're all greeted by the shrill sound of Vampire Barbie screaming at Bonnie from the porch outside, "So help me Bonnie Bennett, if this is some kind of sick joke, I'm never going to forgive you!"

I'm already facepalming now because this little gathering just got that much worse. It's bad enough I had Baby Gilbert goading me about the emotional clusterfuck I'm now trying to avoid, not to mention whatever bombs Judgy is about to drop on me, but now I also have Vampire Barbie—Team Stefan's fucking mascot—screaming through the door; loud, blonde, and obnoxious.

_Fuck my life._

Jeremy reluctantly gets up from his seat and heads for the door, unlocking it, opening it, and inviting her in. Caroline brushes right past him, barely giving him a glance as she stomps her way into the kitchen where Bonnie and I are still sitting. She's got her hands on her hips and her curly, blonde locks jostle with nearly every word she speaks.

"What do you mean Tyler's not dead, Bonnie?! This is _sooo_ not the time to be messing with me," Caroline warns with those vocal dynamics that only she has rights to. And now I'm looking from her to Bonnie with a contorted brow of confusion.

"Calm down, Caroline. That's why we're all here. There's something I need to tell you. All of you," Bonnie admits with an undertone of anxiety creeping into her voice.

Jeremy finally returns to his previous seat, and Caroline's now sitting at the far end of the table. Everyone's watching Bonnie expectantly.

"Klaus isn't dead," she states with a straight face, full of sincerity.

No one was expecting that, and moreover no one is willing to believe it. After everything we'd all been through, and after everything we'd all gone through since Klaus' arrival, no one wants to even entertain the idea that Klaus could somehow still be alive. Naturally, I'm shrugging it off like she's talking crazy. Caroline and Jeremy are more taken aback, probably trying, and failing, to grapple with the idea.

"The extra-crispy corpse locked in my cellar says otherwise," I say, deciding to break the lingering silence and blank gazes, because I assume she _must_ be fucking with us. Vampire Barbie was actually right for a change—this _is_ some kind of sick joke. It has to be.

"I'm serious, Damon. Why do you think you're all still alive? I transferred Klaus' consciousness to Tyler's body. Tyler _is_ Klaus right now," she says, and she's not leaving any room for misinterpretation given the serious yet apprehensive furrow of her brow. And with that, my gut starts to tighten, because she definitely isn't joking.

Caroline's exploding out of her chair now, sending it tumbling back against the hardwood floor behind her, all wide eyes and panicked shouts, "You did _WHAT_?! What do you mean Tyler _is_ Klaus right now?! How is that even _possible_?! I saw him! He was _DYING_, Bonnie! This is totally insane! How could you put Klaus into Tyler?! That is _so_ not where Klaus belongs. Oh my god. _Ew_… Wait, are you saying that Tyler is _ALIVE_?!"

"Hold on, you're telling me you helped _save_ Klaus?" I say, trying to ignore the blonde's hysterics. And yeah, my tone is all kinds of accusatory along with my wide-eyed icy glare.

"Bonnie, how is that even possible?" Jeremy chimes in amidst the sudden chaos.

"It had to be done! I wasn't going to let all my friends die! I wasn't going to let my own _mother_ die!" Bonnie tries to explain, getting defensive now. "And of course Tyler is alive, Care. I didn't want to let Tyler die either. He's just… think of it like he's sleeping." That gives the blonde something to digest, or at least it shuts her up for the moment. She had to blink back the tears that began to pool in her eyes upon hearing Tyler was still alive. I know that feeling all too well.

_Fucking witches._

Well at least this explains why we all haven't begun to spontaneously cough up blood in a fit of withering death, but damn… I was really, really hoping Klaus had been lying his sorry ass off to save his own pathetic skin. I'm so over this fucker already. I was banking on Elijah's bloodline, myself—at least he makes an effort not to be a _complete_ fucking psychopath. Anyway, now that Elena's connected to Klaus' bloodline, I can't even rationalize bringing myself to drive the super-stake through his surrogate to finish the job, _assuming_ that would even do anything at all. I _knew_ this fucking day wasn't going to get any better, but goddamn if it didn't just get a million times worse. This whole fucking town is cursed, I swear to god.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do, and something _had_ to be done. So I did it," Bonnie replies, not betraying any lack of confidence in her decision now.

"But how, Bonnie? I mean, when Klaus possessed Alaric, wasn't that dark magic?" Jeremy inquires, an expression of concern directed at his ex.

"Yeah, what about the 'balance of nature' and all that other bullshit you witchy-folk always like to talk about? Something like this _surely_ doesn't come without a hefty price," I say rather mockingly, following up on Jeremy's point. I'm trying my best not to lose it right now, because I've got some crazy paradoxical reactions pumping through my blood. On one hand, what the fuck at Bonnie saving Klaus' life? On the other hand, I know exactly why she did it, but fuck me, Klaus is still alive. Klaus. Is alive. In Tyler's body. What the fuck? I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

"The spell required tapping into a much darker place than I'm used to, but it's nothing I can't handle. I did what had to be done. And I'll deal with the consequences of that choice. You of all people should be able to understand that, Damon," Bonnie points out with an overconfidence that is typical of the judgy little thing, yet with a touch of surprising insight there as well.

"Hello?! What about _TYLER_? Why is no one here even _concerned_ about the fact that Tyler is like… like… trapped in some 'voodoo coma' or something while Klaus is out _frolicking_ around in _MY_ boyfriend's body!" Caroline interjects, as if Tyler was the most important variable in this whole fucked up equation.

"That's why we're all here, Care. We need to find a way to get Klaus out of Tyler's body _without_ letting him return to his own body. Once we can get Klaus out of Tyler's body, Tyler will be fine. I made Klaus a deal—that I would keep him alive until we found a way to deal with Alaric, and then return him to his body. In exchange, he promised to leave us alone and leave Mystic Falls. But we can't trust Klaus, and we can't let him have his body back. We'd all be in danger all over again, and I won't let that happen." Bonnie says, looking straight at Caroline, resolute and full of conviction.

"Witches reneging on their deals… well, this is all too familiar, and it _never_ leads to anywhere good. Just where the hell are we supposed to put him, _Bonnie_? It's not like we can simply throw him into any random body and call it a day. Remember if he dies, we _all_ die," I argue, and I'm _really_ not digging any of this right now, but I also don't much like the idea of leaving Klaus in Tyler-the-hybrid's body, what with the rabies that little bastard can spread with a single bite. On the other hand, I'm not seeing a whole lot of options here. Rock, hard place. Wonderful. Terrific. Typical.

"What?! Well, we can't just leave him in _Tyler's_ body either, Damon! My boyfriend is _NOT_ subletting his body like some kind of rent-controlled apartment. _Especially_ not to Klaus! _EW_. This is all beyond weird. Why couldn't you put Klaus in Damon or something, anyway? That would have been _SO_ much better," Caroline adds with her usual dramatics. And I'm rubbing my temples now, trying to ward away an oncoming migraine.

_Bitch._

"I have something else in mind," Bonnie begins as she pulls out a thick, tattered, leather-backed grimoire from a shoulder bag she had resting at the foot of her chair. She places it upon the dining table before her, and cracks it open. Trust me when I say, it sounds as old as it looks. We're all watching her now, all furrowed brows of curiosity, as she flips through several pages before finding what she is looking for.

"Here," she exclaims, pointing her index finger at a weathered page in the grimoire. It's full of a bunch of scrawled words I can't read and a few faded drawings that seem to depict some kind of diamond-shaped pendant that reminds me a lot of the one Emily-the-triple-crossing-witch-bitch used to seal in the tomb-vamps. I can't help but glower down at the page as the recollection flashes in my head. I'm instantly reminded how much of a pain in my ass witches have been, and I'm also reminded about the pitfalls of obsessive love, especially that of the unrequited persuasion. You know, the kind where you waste a century and a half of your life only to find that you've been made out to be a trick to some vampire whore from hell. Yeah, those.

_Should have known you were getting played._

"I think we can use some variation of this spell to transfer and seal Klaus' spirit—his consciousness—into a crystal like this, effectively turning it into a prison. Emily managed to bind a part of herself in a similar talisman. And Grams was always talking about how powerful a witch's talisman can be. I really think this can work. But I'm going to need help," she explains, bringing the bigger picture into focus now.

I lean back in my seat, silently considering the situation at hand, all narrowed eyes and scowling brow, because I sure as hell don't find any of this appealing. I'm not exactly thrilled about having to rely on even more witchy-juju as a viable solution to any problems, but I'm not seeing much in the way of alternatives. I have the super-stake back at the boarding house. I definitely made sure to grab that before leaving the self-storage. But again, if Klaus dies, pretty much every one dies, including myself _and_ Elena. And yes, Stefan too. As much as I'd like to spend the rest of my miserable existence thoroughly hating him for all of the shit he's pulled over the last 150 years, he's still my fucking brother, for better or worse—even if I wished he weren't sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than willing to bring absurd amounts of physical pain down upon the little bastard, but I don't want him _dead_-dead. I'm not sure whether or not I hate myself for that. In any case, I don't like this situation one bit, because it's not a situation I can control, and it's not a situation I have an answer to. And Klaus is still alive. And we can't kill his ass. And that really pisses me off.

_Fucking Klaus. Fucking Originals._

"Do you really think this can work, Bon? Are you even sure you can handle something like this?" Jeremy asks, breaking the uneasy silence which had been filling the room.

"It has to work, Jer," the witch responds, matter-of-factly, but judging by the doubt in Jeremy's expression, he's not convinced. Though that's probably more about the witch's well-being than anything else. I can say a lot of things about little-miss-judgy, but she doesn't seem to have any qualms about putting herself in danger in order to save and protect her friends, and Jeremy's never taken kindly to her martyr tendencies, even if he tends to do the very same thing. We're _all_ a bunch of walking double-standards, really.

"Well, count me in. Whatever I can do to get my Tyler back. Just tell me what to do," Caroline says, finally taking her seat again.

"You said you needed help, what kind of help, exactly?" I ask, arching a single, skeptical brow as I draw my attention back to Bonnie.

"Well… strictly speaking… the exact spell I'd need doesn't seem to be in any of my grimoires. But I know there's a way. I just have to find it. That's where you come in," she says, looking to Jeremy now. "I was thinking you could talk with Alaric. He might be able to track down some information we can use from the Other Side. In the meantime, I can see if Abby can help us too. She has experience with this sort of thing, so she's really our best bet right now."

"Whoa, hold on. So you don't even know how to do the spell? _That's_ reassuring. I'm so glad our awesome plan rests on your delusions of _grandeur_," I quip at the witch, rolling my eyes in an exaggerated show of my increasingly diminished faith in this whole proposal.

"Damon! We can't sit around and do nothing. Tyler needs our help. We have to at least try!" Caroline pleads with one of her signature whines.

"Are you forgetting the last time I went out of my way to help the mutt and how I nearly _died_ for my trouble?" I shoot back.

"Damon, as long as Klaus is in Tyler's body, we're all in danger. Tyler _is_ still a hybrid, and that also means any vampire he decides to go after is a bite away from certain death. And without Klaus's body to provide the blood-cure, we can't afford not to do anything," Bonnie reasons with me. It's clear she doesn't want to come out and admit it, but she really does want my help. And I'm not exactly sure what to make of that, but hell, she's right. She's going to _need_ my help if she hopes to have a snowball's chance in hell of pulling this off. Especially with this little rag-tag team we've got going so far. Nothing is ever simple, and we're basically in uncharted waters here, so who knows what manner of misfortune we've got lying in wait. On that note, I'm not about to involve Elena _or_ Stefan in this, and that needs to be made crystal clear from the get-go.

"Fine, Jer can pow-wow with Ric, and you can run along and chase down your estranged vamp-mother, but _no one_ tells Elena about this, and _no one_ gets Stefan involved either. Elena's got enough shit to deal with right now, and Stefan's, well… Stefan. Besides, he needs to keep an eye on his psycho baby vamp," I state, leaving no room for argument.

"Psycho? What happened? Is she alright? I really need to call her." Bonnie says, looking between myself and Baby Gilbert now. Caroline, on the other hand, is doing everything she can to look disinterested in the new topic, as if she already knows something. She always was a terrible liar.

"She's fine. Don't worry about it. But I swear, Witchy… Do. Not. Tell her about this. But if you want to help, she could use a daylight ring sometime soon," I remind the witch.

She responds with a proud smirk as she reaches into her bag, producing a ring of lapis lazuli set within a silver band. "Way ahead of you," she says holding the ring up to admire her own handiwork.

"That one's prettier than mine," Caroline pouts, and Jeremy has to stifle a chuckle at that. "Did Stefan have you make that for her?" She asks as if she already assumes the answer, the whine in her voice now replaced by allusion to some ridiculous notion of 'epic' love. All I can do is roll my eyes.

"Actually, no. I haven't talked to Stefan. I just assumed she'd be needing one, and since Damon was _ignoring_ me, I decided to make myself useful," Bonnie corrected her whilst chastising me all in the same breath. She's getting better at the whole verbal-sparring thing. Then she's sliding the ring over the surface of the table toward me, "Can you drop that off for me so I can go find Abby?"

I blankly stare down at the ring on the table before me. It's not really what I expected. I figured it'd be a petite little thing, with a slim band and a single stone in a typical setting, but it isn't. The band is wide and rather thick—like you might expect of a thumb ring—and instead of a single cut of lapis lazuli, it's peppered all around with a number of the semi-precious, blue stones. After a moment of inspection, I glance back up to Bonnie, giving her a curious look.

"What? I had to work with what was available to me. Besides, what _was_ Elena isn't necessarily Elena _anymore_. It's symbolic. Even you can appreciate that, Damon," Bonnie explains, as if to defend herself against my silent inquiry. I don't admit it, but once again I am rather surprised with the witch, even if I don't completely agree with the sentiment. Elena is still Elena—perhaps even more so now. Nothing had really changed. She's just a vampire now, that's all. But hell, it's only a stupid, little trinket to keep her from becoming barbecue in the sun. It's not symbolic. It doesn't signify any sort of change. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a ring.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same._

"Whatever," I say with feigned indifference as I pluck the ring up off the table and pocket it behind the breast of my leather jacket. "You've got a séance to tend to," I remind Baby Gilbert, giving him a nod as I rise from my seat, "and you've got a runaway mommy to track down," I continue as I look back to Bonnie, making my way toward the exit. "Oh, and Vampire Barbie, you might want to keep your little blonde head low for a bit. Apparently the Council's in an uproar thanks to the serial killer formerly known as Ric."

"Careful, Damon. I might actually start to think you care. Liz is totes freaking out—she thinks they're going to like come after me with pitch forks and torches or something. I guess I can't really blame them. I mean, I am a vampire. But it's not like _I'm_ the one running around doing bad things to good people. Anyway, now that I know Tyler's still alive, I have to save him. But don't worry, I'll help Bonnie find Abby. That she should keep us out of the Council's judgy little cross-hairs. But we really should go see Elena first, Bon-bon. She misses us," the blonde responds with an obscene amount of verbiage in her typical animated fashion.

"You're right, Care. We should be there for Elena. And Damon, we'll call you after we find Abby. Just be sure to answer your phone this time," Bonnie says with a hint of derision, earning her an exaggerated roll of my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. But if you two are going to see Elena, you can give this to her yourself," I say as I retrieve the ring from within my jacket and toss it back to the witch. And thank god for that. It's about time I caught a fucking break. Distance. That's what I need. That's what she needs.

"Later, Gilbert. Tell Ric I'm drinking for the both of us tonight," I say on my way out.

"Sure thing, man," he responds without pretense as he sees me out. "Oh, and Damon… thanks for what you did last night, for what you said to Elena," he added.

I look back at him as I reach the porch, returning a small nod, "That was all you, Jer."

Baby Gilbert tilted his head to mask a subtle smile, and nodded as I stepped down the porch. He made sure to lock the door behind me.

Then I'm back in my car, checking the caller ID of my cell again as it buzzes to life, turning my key in the ignition to get the engine purring. It's Stefan, again. I sigh because I really, really want to send his ass to voicemail again, but it might actually be important. It might be about Elena. Maybe she snapped his neck and slipped out of the house after going stir-crazy. What? A guy can dream. So, against my better judgment, I answer his call this time.

_This should be good._

"This better be good, brother. I've got places to go and people to eat."


	6. Chapter 5: Bye Bye Blackbird

**Author's Note: Ok, so don't hate me, but Damon and Elena still don't have any exclusive interactions in this chapter :( I'm sorry! Originally, this chapter was going to be longer, and include such moments, but I think it works better split up. Bear with me though! They have to go through the slow-burn, that's just the way the story is designed. I hope it'll be well worth it when all is said and done though!**

**I've introduced a mostly original character in this chapter, though she's connected to Gloria from Season 3. I hope you like her. Bear in mind, her accent/speech is very Irish sounding-something you might hear from a native of Dublin, though I pulled back on 'writing in' the accent, so to speak.**

**Again, big special thanks to Layla Reyne ( u/2788323/Layla_Reyne ) for being my beta! She's the bestest!**

**And as always, *group hug* to all of my supporters and reviewers! You people sustain me! :D Anyway, off you go, and I truly hope you enjoy the new chapter.**

* * *

"This better be good, brother. I've got places to go and people to eat," I say in greeting, popping the Camaro's clutch as I slide the gearshift into first. With a single hand palming the steering wheel, I execute a precision U-turn on the street before peeling out toward Mystic Grill. I figure it's close enough to noon to get a head-start on my alcohol intake for the day.

"Damon. Where are you?" Stefan asks with his usual amount of irritation seeping through the line.

"Right now? Somewhere in the vicinity of the seventh circle of hell. The company is _fantastic_, but the weather blows. I'll send you a postcard," I reply, wearing an amused smirk, because I can just see his broody brows now. He honestly does make it too damn easy sometimes.

"Look, Damon, we need to talk about Elena," he says. I might have known this was going to be about her. It always seems to come back to her. And with that my grin goes dim and I'm wearing one of my favorite scowls, because now the irritation is mine. Not only do I want to avoid thinking about her, but I definitely have no desire whatsoever to discuss her—_especially_ not with Stefan.

"No, Stefan, we don't," I retort, short and sharp. And I should just hang up on his ass now. I'm not really sure why I'm allowing this conversation to continue.

"I know she spoke with you this morning, and whatever you two discussed upset her. She's been locked in a guest room, crying ever since I got back to the house this morning," Stefan continues, completely disregarding my previous objection.

Now I'm getting both confused and pissed off in equal measures. I knew Elena was upset before I even left Shutter-fucking-Island this morning, but I figured once Stefan showed up she'd have all the comfort she'd need from the blessed Saint himself. I'm sure our brief journey down the _bumpy_ road of emotional dysfunction in the padded cell formerly known as my bathroom didn't help matters, but that alone doesn't seem like it'd be enough to get her as upset as Stefan is making her out to be, blood-sucker or not. But if she's _still_ as upset as he claims, and has been for the last couple of hours, I'm at a loss for an explanation. To make matters worse, I can't help but see the tears streaking down her cheeks just as clearly as I can hear her sobs fleeing from her throat, and I can feel both of them cutting through my chest. This is _exactly_ why I didn't want to talk about Elena. And it's all doing _wonderful_ things for my already-shitty mood now if the audible whine of the steering wheel under my grip, and the increased speed of my Camaro are any indication. I'm fairly certain I just hit 60 in a 35.

Also, how the fuck would he know that we spoke this morning? …Unless she told him. _Ugh_. _Sonofabitch._ She must have told him. Perfect. This is all I need right now.

"Honestly, Stefan, this conversation is not even in the top-ten on my to-do list today. If you've got some kind of trouble in paradise, that's your problem, _brother_. Not mine. And how do you '_know_' we spoke this morning, anyway?" I ask, because my curiosity likes to see me suffer, it seems.

_You really are a fucking masochist, aren't you?_

"She asked me to step out for a while so she could speak with you alone," he admits with a touch of reluctance in his tone. And I damn sure wasn't expecting that, which subsequently distracts me from stopping at the red light I just blew through at about 65 miles-per-hour and climbing.

"What?" I ask incredulously, because I really do need that reiterated back to me.

I hear him sigh through the line as he clarifies, "She said she needed to speak with you about something important. She didn't want me eavesdropping, I guess."

"Well, this just reached a whole new level of weird," I say, thinking aloud, because this entire Elena situation is only becoming stranger by the moment. First… you know what, let's skip the whole waking nightmare episode, because I'm nowhere near in the right state of mind to relive any of _that_ shit. Then, she's in my bedroom, enjoying the pretty colors, and unraveling into an emotional fusion bomb. Now I find out she asked Stefan to leave for the sake of 'alone time'? With me? What the _actual_ fuck?

"Damon, what's going on?" I hear him ask, interrupting my internal dialogue's regression back into delirium.

"Hell if I know, Stefan. She's your girlfriend. She chose you. So you deal with it," I shoot back, my patience now akin to a wet piece of tissue paper.

"Damon, what are you talking about? She hasn't made any choi—Elena?" Stefan seems to be surprised as he cuts himself off, and it doesn't sound like he's speaking to me anymore. She must have finally stopped crying. At least that's something. Good, now I can get back to my regimen of trying—and failing, _miserably_—to ignore her, and him, and them.

"Oh, look, a bus-full of nuns. And it's nearly about time for lunch. What are the odds? Gotta go now," I quip over the line with all the sarcasm I can muster, and then I swiftly end the call.

Crisis avoided. Now I _definitely_ need a drink—or five.

* * *

It doesn't take me much longer to arrive at the Grill, and I quickly find myself sitting in my usual spot at the bar with a tumbler of bourbon in front of me. The lunch crowd has not yet arrived in full force, but is beginning to trickle in as the minutes pass by, though I sit alone at the bar, which simply doesn't seem the same with Ric now six-feet under. I'm idly holding the glass and turning it about on the edge of its thick bottom, gazing aimlessly down into the amber liquid that swirls around with the movement of its vessel as I recall the text messages I had just exchanged with Liz moments ago when I first entered the Grill.

The Council debacle could become a pretty big damn problem if it's left unattended. Apparently, there's a new player on the board, a Pastor Young, who has taken the reigns of the Council now that Liz and Carol have been ratted out. I vaguely recall him from previous meetings, and he always seemed fairly quiet and reserved. But from what Liz told me, he's all kinds of fire and brimstone now—all about the righteous zeal and the glorious second coming, which means there'll be no reasoning of any kind with him. I've come across his type in the past—the true believers—a bit like Vampire Barbie's father, Bill, or even John when he first swooped into town. Except this guy seems like he could become much more problematic. Nothing's going to change his mind, especially now that he knows he's been duped for so long. With all that in mind, I allow something of a grunt to leave my lips right before I down the remainder of my bourbon and silently signal the bartender for another round. First Klaus, now this, and it's not even quite noon yet.

In any case, Liz didn't even know Caroline was still in town, and she had no idea what had become of her daughter's lapdog, Tyler. So, I suspect the same is true for Carol, which is probably best—irrational, panicked mothers won't be of any help to the situation. Apparently, Carol and Liz told them to skip town last night due to psycho-Alaric's meddling in Council affairs, the extent of which is also worse than I originally thought. Not only did he drop a dime on Liz and Carol and their respective 'demon spawn', he also thought it'd be a good idea to bring up the Mikaelson family. Oh yeah, they know all about the goddamn stake of destiny too. Meanwhile, Carol is being forced to resign as Mayor and Liz is on unpaid suspension from duty pending an investigation. They're probably both being watched as well.

So here I am, going over my options about how to best handle this total fucking disaster as quickly and quietly as possible. Compulsion en masse may be an option, albeit one that would be a huge pain in my ass at best, but that'll have to wait a few days to make sure the vervain is out of all their respective systems. And who knows how much vervain any of them have left, stashed away, let alone how many others they've told about the little Council scandal. So it's not the best plan by any means, even if it does involve the least amount of unmarked graves. Alternatively, I could always bury the pious preacher, which is already sounding like the better, or at least the most satisfying, option. There's no telling what craziness this pastor might pursue once he realizes Alaric isn't coming back to give him more marching orders, not to mention the stake, which is now missing-in-action as far as they know. On the bright side, Liz mentioned that we were still in the clear—Stefan and I—and not even she knows about Elena yet. At this point, I'll take any good news I can get.

As I silently resolve to pay the good reverend a visit tonight, sealing the decision with a swig from my glass, I catch a whiff I haven't smelled since I chased Stefan's ass to Chicago—a mix of vervain, wolfsbane, and vanilla. It's one of Gloria's signature recipes, but the woman who slides into the stool next to me is definitely not Gloria. She's got legs that seem to stretch on forever, clad in only a tiny pair of frayed denim shorts that expose all kinds of milky, fair-skinned thigh. And I can't help but drown a smirk into my glass as I take another swig of bourbon, because I know exactly who this dame is.

"What's the story, Damon? Are ya well?" She asks in that thick Irish accent of hers, and I can practically see the playful smirk on her lips before I even turn to face her.

"Keira," I say, sparing a brief moment to return her smirk with one of my own as I give her the once-over. "It's been far too long, you little hellcat. What brings you to this particular corner of perdition?" I should be more surprised by her arrival, and part of me is, but given recent events, my capacity to expect the unexpected has risen considerably.

I haven't seen this wild child in years, but she hardly looks like she's aged a day. No doubt the same witchy juju that Gloria used. They've always been like sisters, those two. She's still got layers upon layers of long, sun-fire red hair, and those brilliant lime-green eyes are still as bright as ever. No doubt about it, she's every bit as beautiful as I remember. Keira's definitely one of my favorite witches, and not just because of the fact that she's as limber as they come. However, she is still a witch, and statistically speaking, I have bad luck in that department. But, we have something of a history together, and there aren't a whole lot of people left in this world I can say that about in any sort of positive way. So that counts for something, I suppose.

With that, Keira's vibrant green eyes dim a bit, and her smirk fades as she responds with a lowered voice which lets me know she means business, "Don't suppose ya know where I might find your brother, Stefan?" And I can't help but slide a single brow skyward at that. As far as I know, she and Saint Stefan were never very close. She's not a huge fan of Rippers.

"That depends. What do you want with Stefan?" I ask. I can't imagine why Keira would have any ill intentions toward Stefan. I mean, yeah, she's not too fond of Rippers, or most vampires, in general, but she's not the type to get overly self-righteous about such things. But I haven't seen her in ages, so I don't exactly trust her as much as I might have in the past. And needless to say, I've developed some rather significant trust issues over the years, especially where witches are concerned.

"Was hoping he'd be able to show me what rock that bastard Klaus be hiding under… and perhaps help me to find a wee trinket Gloria was looking for," she says, and she doesn't seem to be lying given the steadiness of her heartbeat. But she's a witch, and a rather skilled one at that—can't rely on the usual tells.

"Klaus? What do you want with Klaus?" I ask, and now her mysterious visit is beginning to seem much less coincidental.

"He's got a debt to settle, Damon. And I mean to collect. But, such words aren't for all these prying ears," she says, sparing a subtle glance over her shoulder at the lunch crowd beginning to fill up the Grill. She turns back to me, sweeping several long, red locks out of her green eyes as they look up to meet mine, "I wouldn't have come to ya if it wasn't serious, Damon. So, what'll ya say? For old-time's sake? I need your help," she finally admits, placing a reassuring hand on my knee to emphasize her sincerity, and I believe her. Keira's not exactly the type to make too many enemies unnecessarily, so if she's gone this much out of her way to track down Klaus, it's not for nothing. Though, I'm not sure what 'trinket' she's referring to. It has to be something witchy if it piques the interest of both Gloria and Keria.

In any case, she and Gloria have helped me in the past with my foolhardy quest to reunite with Katherine, among other things, so I guess I kind of owe her one, or five. Plus, if she means what I think she means about Klaus, she might actually be able to help us put a nail in that particular coffin too. At the very least, I'm willing to hear her out. And hell, as much as I don't want to admit it, it's good to have an old friend around.

I consider her for a moment longer before finally offering a simple nod and knocking back the rest of my bourbon. "And here I thought you just _had_ to see me again, after all these years," I tease, giving her a wink as I stand from my stool, throwing a twenty onto the bar. "Tell you what. Give me about two hours and meet me back here. Then we can discuss the details of your little visit."

"Aye? And just what the hell ya expect me to be doing till then?" She asks, taking feigned offense.

I smirk back at her as I head for the exit, "_Relax_. Take in the sights. Drown yourself in a bottle of Jameson. Pine over how much you've missed me."

"Ever the corker, you are, Damon Salvatore," she responds with a genuine laugh as I head out the door.

* * *

Well, shit, the visit to Ric's didn't work out quite as well as I had hoped, and I'm already driving back to the boarding house now. I figured I'd still have access to Ric's apartment after he bit the bullet, but of course that would be far too easy. I guess ownership transferred over to Jeremy, so I'll have to drag him out there to invite me in. I need to clear out all the hunter paraphernalia from the apartment before that goddamn pastor, or anyone else from the Council, can get their hands on it. Originally, I was thinking about moving in there for a while, at least until Elena got a grip on things, but after hearing how bad the Council situation had become, I thought better of that idea. Once Ric turns up missing-in-action, they'll probably hit his apartment first. Still, I don't need the fucking townsfolk running around with vervain grenades, automatics loaded with wood-tipped bullets, and pump-action stake launchers. Nor do I need them finding any more information than they already have. Who knows what kind of records Ric has stashed in his place. So, for now, it looks like I'm stuck staying at the boarding house, at least until I can find a way to put a lid on this damn Council issue.

_Ahhh, shit, here we go._

I feel a scowl creep over my features as I reach out to turn on the radio of my Camaro in a vain attempt to drown out the oncoming surge of Elena-centric thoughts, as if that would actually work. I truly am a stubborn bastard though.

So yeah, stuck at the boarding house—really not looking forward to that too much. Maybe Elena has worked her shit out by now. Then again, maybe it's even worse than it was before. I still don't get what the hell Stefan was going on about earlier, on the phone. Was she crying all that time because of me? Because of what happened that morning? It had to be regret—regret over breaking down like she did, saying all those things to me, and then… yeah, that. Not going there. Yet, I didn't see any regret in her eyes when she ran out of my room. I'm not even sure what I think I saw, to be honest. It wasn't familiar to me—it wasn't normal—whatever it was. And what about all that other shit Stefan mentioned. She asked him to leave? That has to be a first, because I sure as hell can't recall that ever taking place before. Surely she wasn't _planning_ to break down like she did. No, it was too spontaneous, too honest. I guess she was just concerned about what Stefan might hear, or something. It's no secret what a sensitive little toddler my brother can be when it comes to Elena and me. But then there was that last bit too. I can't be a hundred percent sure, but it sounded like he had no idea what I meant when I told him she had already made her choice. Why would she '_let me go_' only to not reaffirm to Stefan that she chose him? She fucking _told_ me she still loved him. I just don't get it. I don't fucking get any of it. And _goddammit_, I'm doing it again. Here I thought an ex-bed-buddy-witch strolling back into my life out of nowhere would at least provide some degree of distraction from obsessing over Elena. Yeah, that lasted all of half an hour, at most.

_Jesus Christ, Salvatore, you really need to get laid or something._

Then, as if right on cue, I overhear the low-volume voice of the one-o'clock news report on my Camaro's radio that I hadn't previously been paying any mind to. The monotonous voice of the reporter is talking about some incident of vandalism and destruction of public property at the Wickery Bridge restoration project. Immediately, I know he's talking about the accident from last night, even if he doesn't have a clue about it. And just as quickly, I'm seeing those vacant eyes once more.

The world around me dims. I no longer know or care about where I am or what I'm doing, and the voice of the reporter over the radio fades to an imperceptible whisper. For the second time today, I find myself staring right into those haunting vacant eyes—that image of her trapped and unmoving in the water. And all I want to do is nuzzle her face with my own and breathe life back into her with my lips. For that brief moment, I'm no longer concerned about distance, or blame, or unanswered questions, or rationalizations about what I think she needs, or doubts over my own inadequacies. For that brief moment, she's there, and she needs me, so I'm there too—there with her in the darkness—and that's the only thing that matters.

_We always survive._

My reverie ends in an instant as reality comes crashing back into violent focus. I hear the sound of metal against metal, and my whole body is flailing about in every which way within the confined space of my Camaro. I hear the shattering of glass all around me, accompanied by the crunching of bone which sends blades of aching pain through my limbs. Shrapnel flies through the air, piercing my skin and the world around me is a blur of motion as my Camaro is spun around like a top. I don't know how many times I've flipped and rolled now, but the fumes of gasoline and sickly sweet radiator fluid permeate the air about me as the friction of metal sliding across concrete finally ceases. My legs are above me now, twisted up beneath the steering column, and my head and neck are throbbing as they support the weight of my body. My muscles aren't responding as they're too overwhelmed by the pain coursing through me, but I try to open my eyes, and all I see is inverted pavement in the daylight. I manage a pained groan as my vampiric healing begins to work its magic, and already I can feel the aches in my body beginning to subside, but I also hear a single set of rapidly-approaching footsteps on the street. Shards of glass clatter down as the warped remains of the driver's side door is wrenched open with an audible whine. Then I'm yanked out of the car by a broken arm and dragged out onto the pavement. I only catch a glimpse of a dark figure hovering over me, silhouetted by the sun, before a sharp pain punctures my chest, and then everything quickly fades to black.


	7. Chapter 6: Hallowed Be Thy Blood

**Author's Note: So, finally posting chapter 6! Woot! Yeah, this one took some time to get it to where I wanted it, and it's still giving me some doubts. I think I like it overall though, and it does what it needs to do. Plus, I'm just tired of dwelling on it, lol. So I hope you folks like it :) This was fairly challenging to put together, as it can be difficult balancing an adequate amount of detail while trying to remain in that first-person PoV voice. I hope I pulled it off well enough.**

**Fair warning, there may be high levels of emotional angst, violence/brutality, and of course a level of profanity to be expected with such things. Actually, I tried to pull back on a lot of this to mitigate against redundancy, so I don't think it gets THAT bad.**

**Once again, huge thanks to Layla Reyne ( u/2788323/Layla-Reyne ) for her wonderful beta help which has really proven to be invaluable. *bearhug***

**And of course, I'm also very grateful to all of my reviewers and supporters who provide so much motivation. You're all fantastic!**

* * *

_Elena's standing there before me, in my bedroom back at the boarding house. She's so certain of herself—so convinced that she has everything under control, regardless of the absolute chaos that has descended upon us all. She tries to explain it to me, tries to tell me that it's her choice and her life, because she can see that I need her reassurance. She can see it in my eyes and hear it in my words—that I need to know that she'll make it through all of this unscathed, or at least alive. She promises me that I won't lose her, as if I ever had her to begin with. And the way she holds my hand between both of her own with such sincerity and warmth, looking right into me with those soulful brown eyes of hers, makes me want to believe her more than anything. And fuck me, I really do try. In truth, I'm almost convinced, but it isn't enough. I'm not so willing or able to bet her life on a hunch, or a fleeting hope. I simply can't, and I won't. And in an instant, as I blur forward to intercept her retreat out of my room, all of that certainty and confidence she had clad herself in moments before has abandoned her completely._

_Now her eyes are filled with fear because she already knows what's about to happen even before I speak another word or make another move. Hell, she may have known, somewhere deep down, the moment she set foot on that first step leading up to my bedroom. There was no question now though, because she can see the unruly desperation in my eyes as they go wide, wild, and cold. She can see that the villain in me has already won the internal struggle within my heart and mind, and she knows all too well what happens next. She still may not understand it, and maybe she never will, but she's learned to recognize it by now._

_All she can do is stare back at me with those big doe eyes that are full of nothing but panic and confusion as she tries to recover the breath that swiftly fled from her lungs. She knows what I mean in her heart as I assert that there's another way, even if her mind tries to convince herself otherwise. But her mind can no longer ignore what her heart already understands as the blood floods into my eyes and my fangs sink into my own wrist. Then she's hastily firing off protests and pleas at me, but I choose not to hear them, and they harmlessly ricochet off the armor that my inner demon dons. It's already too late for her, and for me, as the immediate future before us has already been determined by something out of our control—something that neither of us could have ever seen coming in either of our first meetings._

_I've got one hand palming the back of her head now, my fingers weaving through her silky chestnut hair, holding her in place as I force my wounded wrist into her mouth. She tries frantically to escape, grasping ineffectually at my arm to pull it away from her lips, but there is no chance of that anymore because I'm simply too strong. I stare back at her through my dark, crimson sclera, all narrowed with determination and chilling apathy, because in this moment I have no regret or remorse. I can't begin to contemplate the idea of such things, as the mere hint of the thought may cripple my resolve, and I have to see this through no matter how much hurt and hate it will spawn. I may forsake her wishes, but I will never forsake her life—not so long as I draw breath. This may not be what she wants from me, but this is what she needs from me. This isn't who I am, but it is who I'm willing to become for her, and only her._

_Tears are welling in her eyes as they stare back at me, searching my face for the humanity hidden behind the guise of the beast, pleading to me along with her screams that are muffled by my solid wrist against her mouth, and my cursed vitae that now slips over her tongue, invading her throat. In this moment, I feel as though I have become everything I hate most. In my own mind, I've taken the same choice from her that was denied to me nearly a century and a half ago, by my own brother, and incidentally enough it's also Stefan who seizes the first opportunity to remind me of this. It's only after the beast is locked back inside its cage and I see her with clear eyes—my blood dripping from the corners of her mouth as she cries out in anguish—that I realize this, even if it wasn't quite the truth of the matter. But I am not concerned with revelations of truth right now. My main concern is her life and the guilt that swells in my chest, threatening to burst open and flood my insides like I was back in that river all over again. Perhaps someday the truth will be revealed to me, but until that day I will bear this burden, and any other that she requires of me, because I know I'm the only one who can. I know from my own experience that she won't simply get over this though. How could she? It's unforgivable. She will hate me, and I will hate myself, and there is no penance or retribution available to me, but I already knew this before I made the choice._

_Still, I would try to take it back in the following hours, while there was time left to do so. I would try doing anything and everything in my power to delay that fucking hybrid bastard long enough to allow my blood to vacate her system. I would eventually go as far as to seal my own fate—trade my own life—but nothing I could do managed to stop the inevitable. In the end, however, it was her father, John Gilbert, the man who loathed my existence, who would end up preventing the consequences of my sins with his own life, while also returning to me that which I valued most. What a twisted turn of events that was, though I'm sure I'm the only one who looks at it in this way. It was then that I realized how much I could not bear to live with even the notion that she might hate me forever just as much as I could not bear to live in a world that she was absent from. In either case, the bottom line was I could not bear to live without her._

_Then I see her, bathed in the orange glow of a setting sun, telling Stefan that she never wanted to become what we are. Life is surely a cruel bitch with a perverse sense of irony though, isn't it? Because, after all was said and done, it was still my blood that turned her into what we are—what she never wanted to be. And now I have to live with that for the rest of my life, a life which may admittedly be that much shorter now, judging by my current predicament. But at least she is alive, and I'll never be sorry about that, even if I am sorry that I had to hurt her to see it through._

**_It's okay. I forgive you._**

_My dream ends with those impossible words on her lips, and her fingers stroking at the back of my hand as we both lay there in my own bed. I used to hate Stefan for taking that fate away from me. I was ready to die then, and I deserved it, but he, of course, had to be the hero. I don't hate him for that anymore, though, because if he had chosen differently I wouldn't have been around to save her… again._

This is isn't any mere dream though. This is one of my darkest memories. It's one of those times where I became someone I needed to be—someone I knew she'd hate. It's one of those times that I know I'll never be able to take back, but had I the chance to do it all over again, I'd do it all the same, because something inside me demanded nothing less. And of course, if I'm not suffering in silence then I'm simply not myself. Anyway, I'm still trying to figure out if that something inside of me is actually benevolent or truly evil. And yet, at the same time, I want nothing more than to take it all back, and have a chance to do it all differently. It was as simultaneously wrong and right as much as it was both selfless and selfish. And it'll forever be an indelible scar, shaped in _her_ image, on my irredeemably-damned soul, no matter what attempts I make to cover it up or wash the sin away.

* * *

I've been injected with concentrated doses of vervain a few times in my life, especially since my return to Mystic-fucking-Falls, and it's always the same, no matter how much I've tried to build up my tolerance. Sure, building up my tolerance has its benefits, but it doesn't do a whole hell of a lot against a direct shot of that shit into my bloodstream, particularly when I've fallen off my regimen of vervain-ingestion. Such a dose—like the one that was stabbed directly into my heart as I was lying there in the street—still produces the same consistent results: spinning rooms, an equilibrium that's shot to all hell, and a level of nausea that typically precedes projectile vomiting. I guess the silver lining is I'm already a paralyzed bag of bricks before I can manage to start spewing up bile, though in my case it'd probably be more of a dry heave. Then I'm simply gone—passed out like I blacked out from a liquor bender with Ric that lasted two bottles too long. What's more, I also tend to wake up disoriented with a splitting headache, and a fairly significant amount of fatigue that feels a lot like the worst possible hangover one could ever imagine. Suffice to say, it's not a pleasant experience by any means.

I don't know where I am, how long I've been out, or who the fuck dosed me this time, but I'm only now emerging from the blackout stage. The blackout stage is basically like sleeping, so it's not all that bad on its own, except for the fact that it's completely involuntary. So, in essence, vervain is like the vampire's version of Rohypnol—I'm just hoping I haven't been date-raped in my sleep. In any case, with sleeping come dreams, or nightmares, as is the more accurate word for me at the moment, because _obviously_ I don't have quite enough of those yet. Jung would have a field day with my fucked up psyche. Needless to say, my mind's been rather preoccupied with _one_ topic in particular, and to no surprise _she_ naturally happens to be the subject of the nightmare I tumbled out of not but a few moments ago. Because, apparently, getting flung into a vervained-induced dream state, right after my Camaro gets rolled into a heaping pile of twisted metal with me inside of it, while _daydreaming_ about _her_, wasn't enough of a kick in the balls.

_My fucking Camaro. Sonofabitch. I loved that car._

She's basically become the hand on the hilt of the knife in my gut that keeps twisting it around with no regard for the irreparable internal damage she's causing. The fucked up part is I can't seem to help but crave _more_. What can I say, I've got issues. Severe fucking issues.

_This girl really will be the death of me._

Setting aside why my mind saw fit to recall that rather brutal memory, I'm left with lingering questions about the brief vision that accompanied it toward the end, with Elena and Stefan. I have no recollection of such a moment at all, and I've certainly never been to the top of that waterfall with Elena or Stefan, so that's got my mind reeling. Apparently my own memories aren't painful enough, so I'm importing angst from foreign sources? First I get to see Elena's drowned corpse in the river, and relive her death first-hand, and now I'm witnessing private moments she's shared with Stefan? Fan-fucking-tastic.

_I swear to god, if I ever see them fucking, I'll get a lobotomy. Do lobotomies even work on vampires?_

Fuck it, I can't be bothered with trying to solve this latest festering mystery right now, as it appears as though I have more immediate shit to deal with.

The faint echoes of unintelligible voices rouse me from my vervain-induced slumber, and immediately that nauseating feeling of being ridiculously hung over begins to creep over my gradually waking senses. Already I'm keenly aware of that tell-tale feeling of disorienting fatigue and what I imagine is a jackhammer pounding away at my skull. My eyelids flutter as I strain to open my eyes but my vision is still blurry as hell when my pupils do decide to cooperate and focus. The room I'm in is dim, lit only by dusty shafts of late-afternoon sunlight shining through cracks in the old wooden slats that comprise the walls. This must be some kind of remote location outside of town, because, as far as I know, there aren't any dilapidated piece-of-shit-buildings like this within a ten-mile radius of the city hall. The dominant smell I can recognize here is a spicy bouquet of vervain blending with the all-too-familiar acrid scent of blood—my own blood—drifting through the otherwise stale air. It barely takes me a moment more to process the sharp, stinging pangs that shudder down the length of my arms, and as I look up to find the source of the pain, I realize my feet aren't touching the ground beneath them.

_Fucking shit. What the hell am I into now?_

Some sick fucker apparently thought it'd be fun to wrap my wrists in barbed wire so tight I can barely feel my fingers. I immediately know the wire is soaked in vervain too, not only from the fragrance permeating the air, but also because my arms feel like wet fucking noodles, completely drained of strength, and my vampiric healing is pretty much stagnant right now. So here I am, dangling like a goddamn piece of meat from an overhead wooden rafter with my hands immobilized above my head and sharp barbs digging into my flesh. To make matters worse, waking up seems to have inadvertently sent my body into a leisurely sway, and that's causing the barbs to scrape and tear at my flesh that much more. What's really screwed up about all this is I can't decide whether or not I prefer this craptastic situation to the hellish stint down memory lane I just awoke from.

_Fuck my life._

I don't know what the fuck this is all about, so I look down to assess the rest of my obviously dire situation as I try to recall the last thing I can that might shed some light on the most recent state of ruin I've found myself in. My feet, which are suspended merely a couple of feet off the wooden floor beneath, are missing my boots. My torso is completely naked, still bloodied and marred by shrapnel wounds, and that causes me to remember the truck that t-boned me in the middle of my automotive reverie, and sent me and my car spiraling out of control.

_Fuckers turned my baby into scrap metal._

Whoever these bastards are, they obviously know I'm a vampire, and they clearly aren't fucking around. So now my fight-or-flight instincts are kicking into overdrive as a rush of high-octane adrenaline pumps through my bloodstream, igniting my nerve endings like a backdraft from a shot of nitrous surging through my system.

"You could have been a little more… tactful. Flipping his car in broad daylight and then throwing him into the back of a stolen EMT vehicle? I thought you people were supposed to be professionals," I hear a calm voice complain as the incoherent echoes from before finally become perceptible. They definitely aren't in the room I'm in, but they must be nearby.

"Calm down, preacher man. We got our mark, didn't we? Remember, you called me. And I wouldn't be here if this situation wasn't already beyond the point of subtlety," I hear a second, deeper voice respond.

_'Preacher man'? _Must be that Pastor Young fucker Liz was telling me about. I knew that Bible-thumper was going to be trouble, but goddamn, I didn't think he'd end up going this far. Guess who just jumped up to first place on my shitlist.

I try to pull my hands down from their bracings, grunting through gritted teeth and held breaths as the barbs tear at the flesh of my forearms and hands. Streaks of blood now stain my arms and are beginning to trickle down over my bare chest. And it's taking everything in me to keep my mouth shut as I try to swallow the pain pulsing through my limbs.

"No matter. The important thing is that we have him now, but we still need answers. You can get the answers I require, can't you?" I hear the first voice, which I'm assuming belongs to Pastor Young, ask and that voice is beginning to sound more familiar. Granted, I'm not too concerned with 'getting to know your torturer' at the moment, given the more pressing matter of freeing myself from this fucking BDSM bondage scene from hell before I wind up with a stake in my chest.

_Why does this shit always happen to me?_

Honestly, this shit is getting real old, real fast. First Jules and her filthy pack of mutts with their choke-collar of doom; then there was Klaus using me as a pin-cushion for his toothpick, all so Elena could try to win _Stefan_ back; and of course there was the ghost of Mason-fucking-Lockwood, giving new meaning to the word 'sunburn'; but let's not forget Barbieklaus and her whole scorned woman routine. Karma really is a bitch.

"Oh yeah, I'll make the blood-sucker sing like a little bird—," the second voice replies, but he's interrupted by the shout of yet another voice, female this time.

_Oh, joy. Murderous psychotic females. Just what this scenario was lacking._

"_Oh boys_," I hear the woman say in something of a sing-song tone. "Looks like our new friend is finally awake," she calls out from behind me. I try to look over my shoulder to catch a glimpse, but the barbed wire around my wrists isn't making that especially easy to accomplish.

I hear a couple pairs of footsteps walking across the wooden flooring of the building now, making their way toward the source of the woman's voice. The woman seems to remain somewhere behind me as she's joined by the other two—one of the men remains at my six, a few feet away, while the other seems to be dragging something across the floor as he draws closer, and then he's in front of me with a chair in hand. He's a rather tall, well-built, dark-skinned man with a bald head and a trimmed Van Dyke style beard. Yeah, he's a real _Blade_-looking motherfucker, sans the hair and badass-factor, like he's trying to live out some delusional comic-book fantasy. Without a word he haphazardly sets the chair down before me, facing the same direction as I am, and then he straddles the seat, propping crossed arms upon the seatback as he regards me through deep-set eyes with a neutral expression.

"Well, well. Damon Salvatore. Welcome to the party," he says with a straight face despite his otherwise sarcastic, arrogant tone.

"Don't really see how this is a party. I mean, you guys haven't even offered me any booze," I manage between labored breaths, being as obnoxious as I can be, despite the perpetual sting of the barbs flaying the skin of my wrists.

"Oh, you want something to _drink_? Where are my manners?" Baldy asks as he gets up out of his seat and walks behind me, but it wasn't really a question.

_Shit. This isn't gonna be good._

Next thing I know, my head's being jerked back by a fistful of my hair, and liquid vervain is being poured all over my face, instantly burning through my skin as if it were acid, and I'm hollering out in pain. My chin hangs down to my chest after he releases my hair and reclaims his seat in front of me, and my need to feed is beginning to cause my gums to ache, because I'm way past the point of running on fumes now.

"Strong stuff, huh? Burns _all_ the way down," he says, apparently finding plenty of amusement in causing me excruciating amounts of pain.

_This fucker is going to die, very slowly._

"Who the fuck are you? What do you want?" I spit out, trying to cut to the chase and maybe glean some actual information from this prick since my usual charm doesn't seem to be doing the trick.

"Let's just say I'm someone who takes his job very seriously, and right now my job is to get some information from you," he replies with a subtle tilt of his bald head as he stares back at me.

"How cryptic. You want some information? Go watch the fucking Discovery channel," I shoot back, and yeah, that probably wasn't the most productive rebuttal, but I'm a dick like that. And of course, there's the whole sadomasochistic subconscious demon inside me that likes to see me suffer in every possible way.

He grins back at me as he briefly lifts a foot to push at my dangling feet, causing my body to swing against the barbs digging into my wrists. And then the blood is free-flowing out of my wounds, throbbing with all kinds of pain that I can't help but vocalize through gritted teeth. What's more, none of this grotesque scenario seems to faze the other two individuals behind me. I guess that means there's no looking forward to the good-cop-bad-cop routine.

"Oh come on, Mr. Salvatore. Let's not make this any more difficult than it needs to be. We'll even start off with something simple: Where's Alaric?" The man asks, watching me for a response. At this point I'm fairly convinced the pastor is behind this, because I totally saw this coming—that he would start looking for Alaric once he realized he'd gone missing-in-action.

After I finally manage to catch my breath and swallow back the harrowing pain in my wrists, I answer in something akin to a delirious chuckle, "Alaric who? I know _a lot_ of Alarics. You're going to have to be more specific."

Baldy exhales a heavy sigh as he rises from his seat again, walking behind me to retrieve something from where I suspect the pastor to be. After a brief moment, he appears before me again, setting a large car battery and a wooden crate beside his chair. I'm pretty sure I know what comes next, and I'm sure as hell not looking forward to it, but I'll be goddamned if I give this fucker any of the answers he wants if I can help it. It's not like I haven't been tortured before. Yeah, this is going to suck… really bad, but he doesn't know who he's fucking with. Or at least, that's what I'm telling myself to mentally steel myself against the morbid amount of misery I'm about to endure.

"You know, Damon, I've been doing this a long time, and you blood-suckers are all the same," he says as he pulls out a small switchbox from the wooden crate. "You all talk a big game, but in the end, you're just like anybody else," he continues, attaching alligator clips that extend from the switchbox to the negative and positive poles of the car battery. "You all have your limits," he states, pulling a long metallic rod with a black rubber handle out of the box, and plugging it into the switchbox via a long cord. "So, you and I, we're going to find _your_ limits together, and then you're going to tell me anything I want to know."

"Good luck with that, chrome dome," I taunt, because I can't really do anything else at this point, so I might as well get my jabs in wherever possible.

Then he's fiddling with a knob on the switchbox that causes the needle of the charge-meter on its surface to spring forward to life as he grips the metal rod by the black handle. He's at my side now, and my eyes are shifting about, looking for anything and everything about the room and the situation I'm in, trying to find an opportunity to exploit. But the anxiety, the constant pain, and the weakness from the vervain are stonewalling any chance I might have to take advantage of any openings I might otherwise be able to use.

"Where's Alaric, Damon?" He asks again. I don't know how these fuckers know about me, let alone my connection with Alaric, but that's really not my biggest concern right now.

"Sipping mai tais on a sandy beach somewhere. Grading history papers. How the fuck should I know?" I answer as I squint my eyes closed to brace myself for what comes next.

Then, as if on cue, my entire body is convulsing as every muscle inside of me spasms in response to the electricity passing through the tip of the rod and into my bruised ribcage. The howls of agony escaping from my throat are entirely involuntary now as the barbs around my wrists are ripping at my flesh while I jerk about uncontrollably. I can't think of anything other than the searing pain rippling through every inch of my body and the fact that I'll probably never see Elena again. How the fuck she manages to plague my thoughts at a moment like this is beyond me. The shocking torment only lasts a few seconds, but even after my muscles stop seizing and I can breathe again, my body's still swinging from the barbed bindings around my wrists, so it's not much of a reprieve.

"Ouch, that _had_ to hurt," Baldy says, keeping his distance from my swinging body. "Let's try this again. Where's Alaric?"

"Don't worry, cocksucker. You'll be joining him soon," I bark out amidst heaving breaths, my pain-induced rage beginning to reach new heights.

"Ahh, so he's dead? Interesting," Baldy infers, looking past me for a moment before continuing, "So then, where's his stake?"

_Fuck me._

* * *

I don't know how long the interrogation-slash-brutal-torture session lasts, but by the time they take a break, I'm barely conscious and the sun must be below the horizon given the absence of the light that previously poured through the wall of wooden slats. I can't do anything but sway back and forth from the barbed wire bindings that suspend me from the rafter above as my head hangs down, my chin against my sweat-and-blood-covered chest. There's also a small pool of my blood below my feet now, staining the rotted wood beneath me, and I'm fairly certain several of the barbs around my wrists are scraping bone too. On the bright side, they didn't get anything more from me, aside from vulgar snark, so I guess that's a plus. After the slip about Ric's death, no matter if they already suspected as much, I made sure I didn't give them anything more. On the other hand, once they figure out this is all an exercise in futility, they'll probably stake me and burn my body, so I'm not exactly looking forward to that.

They're all in the adjacent room now, speaking to each other in hushed tones, and while I'm barely holding onto consciousness at this point, I can still hear them.

"We're not getting anywhere with this. We need to try a different approach," the man I suspect to be the pastor says, sounding impatient.

"You said he's got a brother, right?" Baldy asks.

"Mmm, that's correct. Stefan Salvatore. Another vampire," the suspected pastor answers.

_Shit._

"So we bag the brother and string him up too. One of them is bound to talk eventually," the woman chimes in, and I'd probably start panicking now if I weren't so goddamn exhausted.

If they can get to me, they can sure as shit get to Stefan. What's more, Stefan is with Elena. There's two of them though—two vampires. Regardless of the fact that one of them is still a baby vamp, that's still better than nothing. And these fuckers don't seem to know about Elena, or at least they haven't mentioned anything yet, so Stefan and Elena will have that advantage.

_Just this once, Stefan, don't fucking fail me. Please._

"Alright, we'll go grab the brother. You stick around here and keep the smartass company. We won't be long," Baldy says. Then I hear him and the lighter steps of his female companion leaving the building. "Oh, and here, take this. If the blood-sucker gives you any trouble, just put a few in his legs or something. But don't kill his ass yet, we still need him alive," he continues. And I can't see what they're talking about, but it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together.

After the other two leave, the man I suspect to be Pastor Young is almost immediately on the phone, filling someone else in on a play-by-play of the events of the day. Then he's ordering them to head on over after picking up some more vervain and wooden stakes, presumably from some anti-vampire armory the Council has gotten their hands on. My first thought is they've already broken into Ric's apartment, and this situation is rapidly deteriorating by the moment. I don't know how many weapons they've got at their disposal, but if they have raided Ric's stash, they're sure to have more than enough to cause me and mine some serious problems.

It doesn't take long before I hear a couple of vehicles pull up and park outside. Then I hear approximately five car doors open and close, followed by a whole new collection of footsteps approaching the structure I'm in. Most of the new arrivals seem to stay outside as I hear only one set of new footsteps reach the wooden flooring of the building.

"We brought what weapons we could find, but there may still be more stashed in his apartment," the new, male voice says, apparently speaking to the pastor.

"Good. Mr. Owens and his friend should be returning soon with the other brother. Until then it's upon us to make sure the one inside stays put, and stays alive. Why don't you all keep an eye on the perimeter, and I'll look after the prisoner," the pastor explains. And with that, I heard the new arrival leave the building and join the others he had left outside.

_Owens. Noted. Not that I'll be marking the fucker's grave._

I can hear the pastor pacing about the interior of the structure as the others outside seem to be spreading out a bit, judging by their footsteps, so I take this opportunity to summon what strength I can to once again attempt to free myself from the barbed ties that bind me. Unfortunately, I've been hanging in this position for so long, enduring all of this torturous pain, and have lost so much blood that I can barely manage to do much at all aside from emit a handful of impotent grunts and shallow moans. The adrenaline rush from earlier has since run its course, and for the life of me, I simply can't find the energy I'd need to so much as attempt to wiggle loose the wires around my wrists.

I can't help but visualize Elena in my mind as soon as fleshy lids descend over my eyes out of pure exhaustion. I'm not trying to think about her, but I do anyway, as if it were the most natural response in the world. I don't expect I'll be alive much longer at this rate, and with whatever the hell has been happening to me over the past couple of days, maybe that's for the best, so I don't make much of an effort to fight the thoughts that invade my head now. I figure I might as well indulge while I still can. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is her eyes—those big, brown eyes that are always teeming with so much and so many emotions. I'm fairly convinced I could spend the next century just gazing into those eyes of hers and still I wouldn't be able to decipher all that lies behind them. The next thing I envision is her lips. I think of how I can always tell when the gears in her head begin to turn by how the corners of her mouth contort and dimple like she's doing all she can to bite back the words that might otherwise spill from her lips. I think of how her lips just barely part whenever she's taken by surprise, or left in awe. I think of the way they move when she speaks my name, and how she doesn't speak it so much as she _breathes_ it out. And that sends a shudder down my spine, because I swear I can feel her warm breath against my skin as if she were really here.

"Damon…" she barely whispers, but I don't believe it's her, even as my eyelids begin to part.

_Elena?_

I feel her soft palm upon my bloodied cheek now as she tries to gain my attention again in the most silent way possible.

"Damon, please. Wake up. You have to wake up," she whispers again, tenderly stroking her thumb over my cheekbone now, and my face is instinctively turning into her touch.

"Elena?" I breathe out as my eyes open a bit more, and I'm quickly becoming less convinced of the idea that I'm simply hallucinating now because she feels and sounds _so_ fucking real.

With my eyes half-opened and still trying to focus in the darkness of the room around me, I see her there before me. In that instant I forget about all of the brutal torture, pain, and anxiety I've been enduring for these past hours. And like _that_ it's all gone, if only for a moment. And in that same moment I manage a weak smile that causes her doe eyes to gloss over as she begins to survey the immense damage my body has been made to sustain.

"Elena, what the hell are you doing here?" I mumble out as the moment of reprieve passes, and I realize she's actually here, having put herself directly into a situation I had been hoping she'd be kept away from.

"We're going to get you out of here, Damon," she answers with a whisper. And I can tell she's doing all she can to keep herself together. I really must look as shitty as I feel judging by her reaction.

Then she's pushing herself up on the tips of her toes, reaching for the barbed wire bindings around my torn wrists. She's so close to me now that I'm absolutely immersed in that honey-sweet scent of jasmine that's exclusive to her alone, and it overwhelms the otherwise pungent odors of vervain and blood that occupy the room. When she finally manages to reach my bindings, I hear the faint sizzle that results from a vampire's skin coming into contact with vervain, and I hear her gasp as I find myself falling against her. She manages to catch my boneless body in her arms, but I still cause a rather loud commotion as my feet finally meet the floor.

The next thing I know my ears are ringing from the sound of three consecutive gunshots that fire off behind me, and my back is involuntarily arching in response to the wood-tipped slugs that slam into me with such force that I tumble forward and fall out of Elena's arms.

"Damon!" I hear Elena shriek out as I collide with the wooden flooring beneath me.

Then I hear the sound of two more gunshots in rapid succession, followed immediately by two thuds and the splintering of wood as the rounds imbed themselves into a nearby wall. I'm doing everything I can to push myself off my stomach against the scalding-hot pain of the bullets in my back. Fear is crashing over me now because the only thing I can think about is the last thing _Mr. Owens_ said to the pastor as he left, and the gun he must have given him. But before I can even manage to roll to my side to make sure Elena was not getting shot to death as a result of my pathetic helplessness, she's already kneeling next to me, holding me down and cringing as she hastily begins removing the rounds from my back with her own fingers. I can't do anything but wail out in agony as each round is harshly pulled out from beneath my flesh, but the feeling of her other hand squeezing mine as she does her work helps me to bear through the pain.

After blindly tossing the last expelled bullet away, she rolls me over onto my back. Her other hand presses against my cheek again as she looks down at me with tears falling from her lashes, but I'm more interested in the blood staining her lips right now.

"Damon. Damon, stay with me. Don't you dare…," she says with desperation in her voice as she continues to stroke my cheek.

"Elena… there's more. Outside. You have to get out of here," I manage, weakly squeezing her hand in my own to emphasize my point.

She vigorously shakes her head as she responds, "No, Damon. I won't leave you."

Her eyes are frantically searching over me now, as if she's trying to figure out what to do next. Then I see the wreath of veins around each of her eyes begin to bulge out from beneath her olive skin as blood rushes into each of them. She immediately pulls her hand back from my cheek and raises it to her mouth before I hear her own fangs pierce the soft skin at the underside of her wrist. Before I can protest, she's forcibly shoving her wrist into my mouth, gazing down at me with her ravenous eyes that communicate an unspoken appeal. My eyes go wide with surprise, and for the briefest moment I try to resist, but the instant her blood touches my tongue, that resistance is completely snuffed out.

_Holy fucking shit._

I'm grasping at her forearm with my free hand as my tongue hungrily licks at her wrist from beneath my lips. And I'm sucking on the holes in her wrists like they are the sole source of ambrosia on this earth because fuck me if I'm not sampling the nectar of the gods that only existed in myth until now. It's _that_ fucking good. She's holding onto my hand for dear life, my mind is absolutely swimming, and every ounce of pain that had been throbbing through my body disappears instantaneously, replaced by what can only be described as lascivious ecstasy. My human mask dissipates and the bestial guise beneath can't help but make an appearance because the wellspring of emotion, sensation, and sublimity flooding over me and filling me up to the brim is positively boundless. I can feel my body automatically mending my wounds as my vitality returns to me with a ferocity that is as feral as it is carnal, and I'm thinking the Holy-fucking-Grail itself has nothing on what I'm now convinced is my own personal brand of heroin, because I'm already a full-blown junkie. Her panting breaths entice my eyes to open, and when I look up at her she's got her head tilted back, gazing skyward from behind closed eyes, and her mouth is agape leaving her fangs exposed as her chest heaves with each shuddery breath she draws in time with each pull I take from the holes in her wrist. She's squeezing my hand so tight in her own that her short little fingernails are beginning to break through my skin. And the audible whimpers now escaping from behind her lips accompanied by the restless cadence of her quivering body tells me she's on the cusp of losing herself right then and there on that old, bloodstained wood floor. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

I finally force myself to stop sucking on her wrist because I realize if I don't stop now, I'll end up draining her dry whilst sending us both spiraling completely out of control. Her eyes are locked onto mine as I rise off my back, and we just stare at each other in silence for several long moments because following whatever the fuck just happened, words seem far too inadequate. Then we both slowly and reluctantly rise to our feet, watching each other intently, and there's still wariness in her eyes due to the state she originally found me in, but the truth is I feel like I could sprout wings and fly right about now.

I look around the room, seeing it in its entirety for the first time, and I immediately notice a man's body lying face down with a pistol resting beside him at the room's entrance. There's no heartbeat in his chest, and he's definitely not moving as I approach him and use my foot to turn him over. It's Pastor Young, and his jugular has been almost completely torn out in brutal fashion. I look back to Elena who is now fixated on the gruesome image of the corpse at my feet, but the look in her eyes is one of wonder laced with fear, rather than regret laced with apology.

"Elena, we need to go," I say, finally breaking the silence, and hoping to snap her out of whatever reverie she had become lost in.

Her attention settles back on me and she nods before following after me.

I cautiously open the rickety front door of the building, and what I see next is just as unexpected as what took place inside. The immediate area around the entrance to the structure is littered with bodies—seven in total. These must be the people who arrived at the request of Pastor Young, but they were all dead now. Four of them had been set ablaze causing the bitter smell of burning flesh to fill the air, the other three whose necks are twisted at unnatural angles I recognize to be Councilmembers.

"Well, it took you two long enough. It's not like we're in a hurry, or nothing" I hear Keira quip with that Irish accent of hers as I turn to find her casually leaning up against Elena's SUV, as if she didn't just incinerate four people.

Stefan is already approaching us as Elena and I walk out of the old building, looking first to Elena, then to me. "Damon. Are you alright? What happened?" He asks.

"I'm fine, Stefan. We need to get back to the boarding house. Like now," I say, not stopping as I head to the SUV. I know Baldy and his bitch went looking for Stefan earlier, and the boarding house is the most likely place they'd start.

More importantly, the stake is at the boarding house.


	8. Chapter 7: Of Fire and Ice

**Author's Note: Sorry about the delay on this one. Been busy with classes that just started for the semester, and my pessimism about TVD as S4 draws closer has been doing terrible things to my motivation D:**

**As always, huge thanks to Layla ( u/2788323/Layla-Reyne ) for her great beta help.**

**And, of course, x's and o's to all of you lovely people who take the time to support and review! You all rock. :D**

**I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

"I'm fine, Stefan. We need to get back to the boardinghouse. Like now," I say, not stopping as I head to the SUV. And that's anything but the truth. I am definitely not fine—not even in the slightest.

My little brother's concern is touching and all, really I think I just _might_ shed a tear, but there's no possible hope of me residing anywhere within the same zip code as _fine_ after what took place in _Mr. Owens'_ House of Pain. I wouldn't be able to find _fine _on a map, because at this point _fine_ is like some three-headed, alien idea to me that only exists in Pixar films and bedtime stories alongside 'once upon a time' and 'happily ever after'. I'm the polar-fucking-opposite of _fine_. That's how far removed from _fine_ I am right now, but I'll be goddamned if I share that scant bit of insight with Stefan, especially while Elena is in earshot.

As for what happened? Fuck if I know what the fuck happened. I mean, erotic overtones aren't exactly out of the ordinary when it comes to live-feeding, particularly when I'm feeding off the blood of some young, sensuous broad. But that wasn't just anyone I was sucking on in there. That was _Elena_. Moreover, that was _Elena_ right after her first kill and live-feed. And whatever _that_ was, it sure as shit wasn't typical. No, it was categorically _extraordinary_, but for all of its mind-blowing, life-altering, earth-shattering, tent-pitching magnificence, the fact remains that it all came from Elena. _Elena_—my heaven and my hell. The sole source of what seems to have become both the very air I breathe _and _my eternal anathema from which there can be no escape. It's only been a fucking day. _ONE DAY_. And every single abysmal-failure-of-an-attempt I've made to pull away from her, because she 'had to let me go', has been met with abounding opposition that has either come directly from her, or from the world at large conspiring to find new and astonishingly unexpected ways of shitting all over me.

I've tried, goddammit. I've tried so incredibly hard to amputate her from the very marrow of my bones where she has made her home, but the harder I pull away, the more I need her to stay, and I'm simply at a loss now. It's ripping me apart, limb from limb, heart from chest, mind from body, and flesh from bone. I don't know what the fuck to do because nothing makes any semblance of sense to me anymore. I nearly died today as a result of how much distance I tried to put between us. Is that supposed to be some kind of fucked up sign? Maybe that is my only escape—death. At least it wouldn't be as confusing and painful as life has become in the here-and-now. At least I wouldn't have to endure through the rest of my accursed existence knowing exactly what I've been denied, and knowing that the only thing that could ever possibly satisfy me is inexorably out of my reach. As if I would be so lucky—death is too kind a fate to ever grace me with its presence. Hell, at this point I'd welcome the reaper with open arms, black cloak, bloody scythe, and all. But no, knowing my luck I'll forever be tethered to this girl whose halo rests atop her horns, forever cast in the role of the third wheel in this perpetual, miasmic drama known as Stefan and Elena.

_God, this is pathetic. You're actually wishing for death. Might as well break out the black nail polish and emo poetry._

I'm wasting no time now as I claim the driver's seat of Elena's SUV and start the engine thanks to the keys that were conveniently left dangling from the ignition. And after momentarily entertaining the thought of peeling out and leaving the lot of them behind, I'm honking the horn at the others to light a fire under their respective asses. Elena is close behind, yet exceedingly silent as she crawls into the passenger seat where she proceeds to occupy herself with turning her new daylight ring around the base of her thumb. With a few flicks of her wrist, and a waggle of her polished green fingernails, Keira's putting the final fiery brushstrokes on the masterpiece of smoking carnage we're leaving behind, and then she's in the backseat behind me. Stefan's the last to fall in because of course my little brother couldn't help but spare a somber moment to survey the now-burning macabre scene, and the collection of corpses he had helped create. It's probably only a matter of time now before he breaks down into a weeping mess of self-pity, burying his face into Elena's cleavage.

_Fucker._

I should probably be thankful to them, and secretly, maybe I am. They did save my life, after all, and they did it without getting themselves killed in the process. This is actually rather anomalous considering what usually happens in Mystic Falls, especially when Stefan is directly involved. But I'm not in the proper state of mind to even consider stepping into that particular realm of sentimentality. Besides, Stefan just let Elena wander off on her own, and look what happened. Now she's sitting there with the Pastor's blood still staining her pouty lips, probably putting herself through some self-imposed guilt trip about how she's some sort of terrible monster now.

_Wonderful._

My intrusive gaze must be heavy on Elena—all restless hands in her denim-clad lap and faraway features behind a curtain of chestnut silk—because she pulls her attention away from the busy hands in her lap and turns her head just enough to slowly draw her gaze up to my face, and like clockwork, our eyes instinctively gravitate toward one another. My eyes are searching hers now, hazarding to become spellbound as I wade through those deep pools of umber to find some measure of understanding and comprehension; to catch a mere glimpse at some degree of the naked truth, free from all of its shrouds and obscurities. And the look she's giving back to me is absolutely stupefying. Her eyes are speaking volumes in what may as well be Greek to me, because I couldn't hope to translate a single word if my life depended on it. I don't know what it all means, I don't know what it's supposed to mean, and I sure as shit don't know where the hell it's all coming from. All I do know is that it's all too much—too powerful, too chaotic, too paradoxical, and too unrelenting. And it's leaving me dumbfounded, apprehensive, and disarmed in equal measure. What's more, it confounds the ever-living-shit out of me, not only because I have no fucking clue what _it_ actually is, but also because I have no idea how to respond to it.

_No one has ever looked at me like that._

I thought I had it bad for this girl before she became a vampire, but with everything that's happened in this past day between us, despite my sincerest efforts to avoid whatever the fuck _has_ actually happened, I'm beginning to realize there's a whole hell of a lot more to this fucked up little drama that we've fallen into. And all I'm left with is confusion because it's all a fucking mystery to me now. I knew her emotional capacity would be considerably expanded upon completing her transition, but I never expected any of this. I'm bombarded by conflicting, bittersweet emotional phenomena from all angles at every turn, all of which seem to begin and end with _her_, and I'm literally at my wits end. I don't fucking get it. I really don't. And I'm fucking tired of it. _So_ fucking tired.

_This shit ends right fucking now. It has to._

I'm reaching my hand out across the console between our seats to seek out her fidgeting fingers in her lap, that I might still them from their incessant fretting, but upon that last thought entering my head, I promptly stop myself short. I remind myself to breathe again, and then I clench my hand up into a white-knuckled fist, immediately breaking eye contact with her as Keira's accent-laden voice interrupts the moment. And it couldn't have come soon enough, because the torrential downpour of bitter is utterly drowning the sweet at this point. I'm sucking in all the coldness around me that I can, making it my own, because at least the chill it brings is familiar, simple, and without pretense. And I make sure that's shown by the icy scowl now chiseled into my features.

I know it's not _all_ her fault, and I know deep down she's as fucked in the head as I am about all of this, but blaming her makes it easier for both her and me, so that's exactly what I'm going to do because that's my only recourse. Maybe that makes me a petty, selfish, disrespectful asshole, but so be it. If that's what I _need_ to be, then that's what I'll _become_. She obviously can't follow through with what she 'had' to do on her own, so I'll do what I must to pick up the slack.

"That's one hell of a way to ditch your date, Damon. Surely ya can come up with a less bloody way of standing me up on our next tryst," Keira teases with her ruby-red smirk brightening up the rearview mirror, though it does nothing to melt away the ice I've encased myself in.

I slam the gear into drive and punch the gas, beginning the trek back to the boardinghouse with a sense of urgency. _Mr. Owens_ has at least a fifteen minute head-start on us by now, so time is of the essence.

"Gonna need a rain check on that appointment, Keira," I reply to the witch. Normally I'd have taken the opportunity to indulge in her teasing for all it's worth, but I'm really not in the mood for flirtatious banter at the moment.

"Damon, what happened?" I hear Stefan ask from the backseat, his tone betraying the concern that's already plastered all over his face.

"That, my dear brother, was the new and improved Council—Alaric's handiwork. Liz must have been kept out of the loop once she was hung out to dry. She thought we were in the clear, but _apparently_ that isn't the case," I reply without taking my narrowed eyes off the road ahead of me. And I swear Elena hasn't stopped looking at me since I pulled my hand away, but she can look at me all she wants with those beguiling eyes of hers. I'm not taking the bait this time.

"Damon Salvatore, ya expect me to believe ya let a handful of 'lowly peasants' get the jump on ya?" Keira asks from the seat behind me, though knowing her it's more of a playful jab than it is a question.

"Yeah, well, I was a _little_ outnumbered. Besides, they had help," I begin, not bothering to mention the monumental distraction sitting to my right that led to this entire mess. "There's at least two more out there—professionals—probably at the boardinghouse as we speak," I pause to look at Stefan through the rearview before continuing. "They were on their way to you," I conclude, purposefully leaving out the particulars of their interrogation, because the involvement of Elena and Stefan in all of this has already gone too far, and I'm not about to let it go any further.

"How the hell did you find me, anyway?" I ask, as I glance up into the rearview once more.

"Keira found us at home and told us about how you didn't show up at the Grill, so she used my blood to locate you," Stefan replies. And I'm doing my best to ignore his liberal use of 'home' and 'us' in such familiar ways as he refers to himself and Elena. However, my best doesn't seem to count for a whole hell of a lot as I sharply jerk the steering wheel to make a right-hand turn.

"Aye. I figured ya to be in some heap of trouble when you didn't show at the Grill, leaving me there all by me lonesome. So, I took matters into me own hands and tracked your brother down myself. Apparently he and the wee lass there were already in quite a tizzy when I showed up, and they hadn't the slightest idea of where ya might be. That only confirmed what I already knew to be true. A wee bit of child's play of the tracking sort later and we were well on our way to the rescue," Keira explains, all ostentatious ego mixed with her Irish accent, as if all the credit for saving my sorry ass belonged to her alone. "You're quite welcome, by the way. Ya can just add this one to those what ya already owe me," she adds, smirking back at me through the rearview, and giving me a suggestive wink.

I manage a mildly amused grunt in response as I return my attention to the road ahead. Keira always did have a way of bringing a bit of levity to virtually any situation, no matter how dire.

"Maybe now you'd like to tell us exactly what you're doing here in Mystic Falls, Keira," Stefan suggests in that demanding way of his, after a moment of silence passes.

"Don't you worry your fluffy little head about that, boyo. All in good time," Keira responds, patting the top of Stefan's hero-hair while flashing him a mischievous grin. And I can't help but emit a chuckle at how much visible discomfort that causes Stefan. Leave it to Keira to chip away at the block of ice I've sequestered myself in, and at Stefan's expense no less.

The remainder of the relatively short trip through the night proceeds without incident, and for the entire duration Elena doesn't speak a single word. In fact, aside from shifting her attention between her hands in her lap and my face, she hardly shows any signs of life at all—not that I'm paying her much attention. Oddly enough, she also hasn't made any effort to rid her hands of my blood that's staining them.

* * *

I quickly park the SUV, and I'm immediately out of the driver's seat, not so much as bothering to shut the door behind me as I blur toward the boardinghouse. There are no cars in the driveway that don't belong, but I'm not about to let anyone get the jump on me twice in the same day, so I'm wrapping myself in shadows and treading on whispers as I whisk through the front door, which shows no signs of forced entry. My senses are operating on overdrive, but I don't hear any foreign heartbeats or footsteps as I proceed through the various rooms and corridors of the boardinghouse. It doesn't take me long to realize the dead-couple-walking have already come and gone, but I'm not satisfied yet.

As the others finally cross the front threshold and tentatively make their way into the parlor, I'm already out the back door, heading about fifty yards out into the property where I buried Ric near an old oak tree the night before. The stake is what they're after, and the likelihood that they'd find Ric's grave out here on their own is miniscule at best, but prudence is a demanding bitch sometimes, as is the doubt nagging at the corner of my mind.

I'm not even close to the oak tree before I can tell Ric's grave has been disturbed. My pace slows as I continue toward the shovel sticking out of the mound of dirt next to a large hole in the ground beside the tree.

_Fuck me. How the hell did they know? How could they have possibly found it?_

I'm sliding two sets of fingers through my hair as I approach the scene with wide eyes and bated breath, and that doubt that was previously nagging at the back of my thoughts is now cackling in my face saying, "I told you so." Ric's right where I left him in that shallow, make-shift grave, all desiccated corpse beneath a layer of dirt. The only difference now is that the super-stake-of-doom I had left on his chest is gone.

"Shit," I manage in a defeated groan as I drop to my knees before the grave, lowering my hands from my head, down to my side.

"Damon!" I hear Stefan calling out from the boardinghouse behind me.

"Damon," he repeats a moment later, as he speeds over to the scene with Elena close behind. "What—," he starts, but he cuts himself short when he sees Ric's new home in the ground.

"They found it. I don't know how, but they found it," I say with a sense of disbelief, anticipating the incomplete question.

"What is it, Damon? What'd they find?" Elena asks with concern, finding her voice for the first time since our incident back at the abandoned building. She's standing beside me now, hugging her elbows as she looks down into the grave at Ric's remains for the first time. I expected the sight to have a greater effect on her, but she doesn't seem too fazed by it.

"The stake," I answer as I rise to my feet, coalescing anger beginning to wash away my initial bewilderment. "I buried the stake with Ric. Now it's gone."

"You _told_ them where it was?" Stefan asks, though to me it comes off as more of an accusation, especially given the way he's narrowing his eyes at me.

"No, Stefan. I didn't tell them. Not even when they were pumping enough volts of electricity into me to power the salon that gave you that haircut," I retort with icicles hanging from my every word.

"Both of you stop. This isn't helping anything," Elena interjects, stepping between me and Stefan before we have the chance to draw any closer to one another. "We're going to have to work together to get that stake back before it's too late. _All_ of our lives depend on it now."

"Nice try, Elena, but I have a better idea. Why don't you and _loverboy_ mosey on back inside? This is my mess. I'll take care of it myself," I say, gesturing vaguely toward the boardinghouse even as Keira approaches with a decanter of bourbon in hand.

Elena squares her shoulders and gives me that look of determination she gets when she's all business and no nonsense—that look that only makes an appearance when the Petrova fire within sparks to life.

"Not happening, Damon. This is _our_ mess. We'll deal with it together," she responds in protest, giving me a pinched-brow glare that says the matter is not open for discussion.

"Elena's right, Damon. Whoever these two are, they've already shown how much of a threat they can be," Stefan adds, falling into his default position of backing Elena's every move. But neither of them really knows the half of it yet, and if they get involved in this problem, it'll lead straight into the Klaus problem. That's the last thing I need.

"You. Speak when spoken to," I bark at Stefan, stabbing a finger through the air in his direction without so much as giving him a glance. "And _you_," I begin, training my finger, along with a set of frosty eyes, onto the torrid spitfire standing before me as I continue. "I don't have the time or patience to argue with you, Elena. So why don't you just saunter that ass of yours back inside where it can't get bit, and leave the heavy lifting to me."

Keira's trying to contain her amusement as she drowns a snicker into the decanter of bourbon, enjoying a long pull. And Stefan's crossing his arms over his chest, looking as uncomfortable and annoyed as ever. Elena, on the other hand, is having none of it, and I must have pushed one hell of a button because she's invading my space, again, and my mind is flooded with thoughts of what took place in my bathroom this morning.

"I saved your life tonight, Damon. I'm not some weak, defenseless little girl anymore. You don't have to like it, but you can't keep me out of this. Not this time," she says matter-of-factly, brimming with all the unwavering confidence she can summon.

"You're an _infant_, Elena. You haven't even learned to crawl yet—barely out of the womb. You'd just be a _liability_," I counter, meeting her stare with wild-eyed tenacity.

"Don't you dare do that, Damon. Don't project your fears onto me," she shoots back, clenching her bloodstained hands into small fists at her side. And those words that follow my own twist up in my gut as I'm suddenly reminded of one of my least favorite nights ever in Mystic Falls.

_Maybe that's the problem._

"Elena, maybe Damon's right. You still have a lot to learn—a lot to process. You shouldn't push yourself too hard too fast. It's dangerous, and we don't know the full extent of what these people are capable of, or what they're planning to do," Stefan interrupts, stepping forward to place a hesitant hand upon her shoulder, but that only seems to set her off even more. She shrugs his hand off and shoots him the look of death right as Keira erupts into a fit of laughter that earns her one of my glares.

With the way they've been acting, I can't help but wonder what the hell is going on with the two of them, especially after what Keira said on the way over here. They didn't sit together in the SUV, they have hardly said a word to one another, and they seem to be avoiding much contact of any kind. Maybe she's putting Stefan through as much hell as she's been putting me through. It's not like he doesn't deserve it, and at least then I wouldn't be the only one. Though, I'm sure whatever shit she's given him has been mild in comparison to what I've been going through.

_Lucky bastard._

"Shite. I'm sorry, but you lot are a fierce gas," Keira manages between giggles before savoring another swig from the decanter in her hand, and quieting down with a roll of her green eyes, deciding to take my glare under advisement.

Elena's doing her best to ignore the witch's amused ridicule as she levels her scowl back on me, and I can't help but meet her gaze dead on because her eyes are full of want and challenge. But I know that look like I know the feel of her cheek in my palm—she's not going to back down, no matter what I say. I can try to argue with her, and I can try to forcibly stop her, but that'll only drive her to do something reckless and stupid that'll make the situation ten times worse in the end. That's something we've always shared. It's something she's had for as long as I've known her—that grit, that obstinance. Neither of us likes to be told what we can't do, and when someone tries to do just that, we won't hesitate to go to hell and back to prove them fools. Fuck it, at least this way I can keep an eye on her, but I'll be damned if I don't make her earn this little victory.

"You almost got yourself killed tonight. You _did_ get yourself killed last night," I begin, closing what little distance is left between us to get right up in her face. "Not everyone gets a second chance, Elena. Why are you so willing to throw yours away?" I ask, gesturing my arms out to the side, my wild eyes locked on to hers, refusing to let her evade or break away. "Why did you even _bother_ to drink that blood from the glass if all you're going to do is march right back into the firing line?" I continue, but I'm not giving her the chance to answer as I deliver my final volley. "You're not fooling anyone with this warrior princess act, Elena. _Stop_ trying to be something you're _not_. _Stop_ giving up. How many times are you going to put everyone else through hell _just_ to see how deep you can go before you have to come back up for air again? How many times are you going to walk into the lion's den _just_ to see how many lives you have left?" I conclude, my eyes searching hers as I clench my jaw so tight my teeth feel like they might shatter.

I can tell my words pierce through at least some of her armor by the way she's practically breathing fire from her flared nostrils. Her eyes aren't shying away from my invasive glare even as the blood vessels around them begin to spider out from beneath her skin, and she's chewing on her lower lip so hard it's starting to bleed. She's on the edge again—one gentle nudge away from totally losing it—and my skin is starting to burn from the heat radiating out from her. It's not quite the same as before though. She's fighting that inner beast that's trying to claw its way out, but it isn't because she's afraid of it, and it isn't a lack of words that's giving her pause this time. It's something else entirely that I don't quite recognize.

"However many times it takes for you to realize we're only vulnerable when we're apart, Damon. I'm willing to become whatever I need to be for the people I care about. _You_ of all people can't fault me for that. And I'm _not_ giving up. Maybe I'm just ready to start giving in," she finally blurts out, staring me down for a long moment with that same look that left me stupefied in the SUV—that look that's full of so much everything that it leaves me in a dazed silence, vacant of coherent thought. Then she's turning her back to me and stalking off toward the boardinghouse, leaving the air in her wake devoid of oxygen because she just burned it all up in an instant.

_What the fuck?_

Stefan's standing there stunned and all he can do is watch her walk off with that same look of numbness I saw on his face back at the morgue, but she doesn't bother to spare a glance back at him. He waits for her to disappear into the boardinghouse before looking back to me, as if I have any answers for him. Of course, all I've got is fuck-all because I'm not even sure what the fuck just happened, or what the fuck Elena just said. I'm going to need a minimum of the rest of the night to merely _begin_ to process those words alone, to mention nothing of the other _lovely_ events of this day. It doesn't take Stefan long to become disinterested with my sudden inability to formulate sound, and without another word he's walking off as well, head hanging low and hands in his pockets.

"Well… at least it never gets boring around here, aye?" Keira quips as she leans into my side and shoves the decanter of bourbon into my chest as if she had read my mind. "I hope ya got more where that came from. I reckon we'll be needing it to get good and locked."

I wrap an arm around Keira's shoulders as I take a swig from the decanter before responding with a helpless, exhausted chuckle, "I don't think there's enough booze in this freakshow of a town to usher me into the level of inebriation I'm going to need to deal with this day."

"What'd your fine thing mean by that anyway?" Keira asks, tilting her head up to peer back at me, fiery red locks cascading back from her face.

"Hell if I know," I begin with a heavy sigh, sparing a moment to pour a healthy amount of bourbon into Ric's grave. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about... dreams, would you?"


End file.
